


The Lies You Live

by alyse



Category: Blade: Trinity
Genre: Action/Adventure, Community: het_bigbang, F/M, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, Long, Pre-Canon, Romance, Wordcount: 100.000-150.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-09
Updated: 2011-10-27
Packaged: 2017-10-24 10:46:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 101,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/262616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alyse/pseuds/alyse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hunting is in her blood and in her bones, but when Abigail Whistler's path crosses that of a smart-mouthed vampire who seems perfectly happy to die, she's left questioning everything she thought she knew. While her team work to cure Hannibal King of his vampirism with an experimental antivirus, she finds herself warming to their captive in spite of her reservations, and when their actions turn out to have devastating consequences, Abby's loyalties are left torn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to: my tireless cheerleaders, particularly [](http://hiddencait.livejournal.com/profile)[**hiddencait**](http://hiddencait.livejournal.com/) and [](http://torigates.livejournal.com/profile)[**torigates**](http://torigates.livejournal.com/); my betas, Aithine and Leah; and my artist, [](http://skylar0grace.livejournal.com/profile)[**skylar0grace**](http://skylar0grace.livejournal.com/), who made me some completely wonderful artwork found **[here](http://hetbigbang.weebly.com/skylar0grace---the-lies-you-live-artwork.html)**. You should go pet and stroke it! Also, thanks to [](http://irony-rocks.livejournal.com/profile)[**irony_rocks**](http://irony-rocks.livejournal.com/) and [](http://peanutbutterer.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://peanutbutterer.livejournal.com/)**peanutbutterer** , who worked so hard on making sure that this whole Big Bang went smoothly and was immense amounts of fun.
> 
> This is the extended, director's cut version of the story - it includes an expanded sex scene, hence the higher rating, and given the length, I'm going to be posting it in many, many parts over the next week or so. If you'd prefer not to wait, a complete (non-sexy, rated 15!) version can be found **[here](http://hetbigbang.weebly.com/the-lies-you-live-by-alyse.html)**.

**Warnings:** Highlight to read:  violence, implications of past torture and sexual abuse, potential triggers for suicidal thoughts and actions.  
**Betas:** [](http://aithine.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**aithine**](http://aithine.dreamwidth.org/) and Leah ([](http://taste-is-sweet.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://taste-is-sweet.livejournal.com/) **taste_is_sweet** )  
**Challenges:** Written for: the 2011 [](http://het-bigbang.livejournal.com/profile)[**het_bigbang**](http://het-bigbang.livejournal.com/) ; my [](http://hc-bingo.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**hc_bingo**](http://hc-bingo.dreamwidth.org/) square 'lacerations/knife wounds' (although, frankly, it could cover about half a dozen of them ::g::); and [](http://medie.dreamwidth.org/profile)**[medie](http://medie.dreamwidth.org/)** 's request back for the first time Abby and King met, back when I did the 'request a drabble' meme. Yeah, I fail at drabbles, apparently. By a factor of 1,000.  


-o-

When reality finally returned, it washed over Abby in thick, heavy waves. Even breathing hurt; the pain threatened to swamp her, dragging her back down with each hitching breath she took. There was a nagging sense of urgency in her hind-brain, a sharp, jagged surety that she was missing something important, but every time she tried to concentrate on it, tried to remember what it was she'd forgotten, it skittered away again, lost in the slow, sluggish hammering in her brain and the bone deep ache in her ribs.

She opened her eyes but the world stayed dark, everything blurred and indistinct. She blinked hard, trying to bring it back into focus, but when she lifted her head, nausea rushed over her, the world greying out and leaving nothing behind but the sound of her breathing, echoing loudly in her ears. She hung there for long, aching moments, taking deep breaths and cataloguing each twinge of pain, each twist of her stomach, every pounding twitch that clenched tightly behind her eyeballs; counting and naming them gave her back a semblance of control, enough to finally open her eyes again and to ease her arms underneath her so that she could push herself up.

The world swam out of focus, dizzying and disorienting, and she took another deep breath, gritting her teeth as she rolled over and used the wall to lever herself upright. On the plus side, she was breathing and nothing seemed to be broken, not even her ribs, which ached but lacked the familiar sharp edge to each inward breath.

She had no idea where she was, and that was definitely a minus.

She finally managed to right herself, ignoring the way that the world swirled around her, bright sparks dancing against the blackness even though there were no light sources that she could see. She knew better than to call out for the rest of her team. If they were around, they'd find her. If they weren't, there was bound to be something else out there that would find her instead, something considerably less friendly. All she could do right now was concentrate on breathing and straining her ears for any sound that might be human.

Frank Reilly was a cold-hearted bastard sometimes and she respected that, although it was easier to respect when it wasn't her ass on the line. But even Frank didn't leave people behind if there was any chance that they were still alive. They'd be looking for her - she held onto the thought as hard as she could.

The bricks behind her were cold to the touch, rough with age and crumbling beneath her fingertips. She leaned against them, letting the wall bear her weight as she blinked grit and worse out of her eyes, trying to take stock and trying not to panic. If no one came, she'd just have to rescue herself, which meant she needed to figure out what the hell had happened and where the hell she was. She tried, but the memories were vague, sensations instead of concrete events. Yelling and flashes of bright light. Moving fast but not fast enough and then... nothing. Nothing until she'd woken up in the darkness here.

There was a throbbing knot above her right eye and when she touched it, her fingertips came back wet.

"You're bleeding."

The unfamiliar voice came out of nowhere and she scrabbled backwards, instincts kicking in as her eyes searched the dimness, her heart beating rabbit fast and frantic in her chest. It was instinct to reach for her weapons, too - as unconscious as taking the next breath or as making sure that her back was against the wall so nothing could circle around behind her - but the silver plated knife was gone from her boot and the stakes had gone from her vest.

Shit, shit, shit. She was down to nothing but fists, feet and teeth - hopefully hers and not something else that bit - but she wasn't going down without a fight.

Something - someone - shifted in the darkness in the opposite corner and she flexed her fingers, all of her muscles tensing up as she readied herself for the charge that didn't come. Instead the voice drifted towards her again, too light and conversational for the words being said. "I can smell it." And then the man's voice dropped an octave, still light on the surface but with something darker, hungrier lurking underneath. "I think it's a little inconsiderate to be all the way over there when you smell so fucking good."

Vampire. Had to be, and if he was close enough to smell her, he could probably hear her heart beating as well and tell how fast it was racing. He could even be getting off on it, tormenting her before he moved in for the kill. She wasn't going to give him the fucking satisfaction; she took another deep breath, forcing herself to move into a state of being that was alert without being tense. Slowed her heartbeat, slowed her breathing. Pushed herself up the wall until she was standing and blinked the sweat, or blood, out of her eyes, feet planted firmly on the ground, balanced and ready for anything.

"Relax, sweetheart." There was a harsh metallic jangle, like an anchor being weighed, the metal chain running through a cleat, and she pricked her ears up, listening for anything else that would give her any hint about where she was. "I'm not going anywhere. Certainly not anywhere near you. Unless you feel like wandering over here?"

She didn't answer him, still listening, still trying to make him out in the dimness as her eyes adjusted to the low light levels, refusing to be drawn into whatever head games he was playing. Most vamps went straight in for the kill, simple if never clean. Trust her luck that she'd ended up with one of the others, the ones who liked to play with their food.

There was another sound, more metallic clanking, and she tensed, feeling far too exposed even with the wall behind her. She'd had nightmares like this, things hunting her in the dark while she crawled around, blind and helpless; she avoided Sommerfield after the worst of them, too sick and ashamed of her relief that she wasn't blind to be able to look the other woman in the face.

"No?" There was amusement as well as disappointment in his voice, and she wasn't quite sure which one of them pissed her off more. "Well, can't say I blame you for that one. That's too bad. The view's on this side of the room."

She took her eyes off him briefly, scanning the wall and spotting the small, lighter rectangle of the high window without much effort. She dismissed it as an escape route almost immediately; it was too small for her to fit through and too close to him for her to risk scaling the wall to see if she could see out of it. Instead, she stayed where she was, turning her full attention back to him.

He hadn't moved, but at least now she could make out the vague outline of his shape, the dizziness from whatever blows to the head she'd taken fading. His body was half-turned towards her, his head tilted as though he was watching her as closely as she was watching him. She leaned back against the wall and folded her arms, hiding the tremble in her fingers, and he snorted, the sound sudden and startling in the silence.

"Not stupid, are you?" He didn't wait for an answer. "No, I'd guess not. Or not reckless, anyway, which pretty much amounts to the same thing." He paused for a second, the silence stretching out between them, and then he added, the amusement back in his voice, "Are you sure you wouldn't be more comfortable moving closer? Maybe leaning in a bit? I'm getting a crick in my neck."

"I'm fine where I am," she said, answering him before she could think better of it, but her lapse in judgement seemed to have caught him off guard - he shifted position slightly, his boots grating against the stone floor, and there was a watchful air to his silence now. "And no," she added, more deliberately this time, "I don't think I'm particularly stupid."

"And yet you managed to get yourself caught and locked up, all nice and neat. I think the jury's still out on that one, sweetheart."

The endearment had her gritting her teeth but she didn't call him on it, tilting her head as she tried to make out his face. "You're locked up in here as well," she hazarded, intending to gauge his reaction if she could.

He snorted again, not sounding at all put out, the amusement dark and rich in his voice. "Well, I never said **I** wasn't stupid."

"Why are you down here?" If she kept him talking, it might distract him long enough for her to figure a way out of here, or for the sun to rise, whichever came sooner.

He tutted, the sound raising the hackles on her neck. "Are you always this forward? Shouldn't there be small talk first? Hey, how you doing? Fancy meeting a nice guy like you in a dungeon like this? What do you do for a living? You know, something before you leap straight into 'how exactly did you fuck up'?'"

It sounded almost normal, like they were simply shooting the breeze, but she didn't miss the sudden tension in his voice. "So how exactly did you fuck up?" she asked, and he laughed, the sound harsh and broken and yet still with some traces of amusement clinging to it.

"Not one for small talk, huh?"

"Not really." Smart quips were something that happened in the movies. In the real world, you got in, you staked the fuckers, you got out as quickly as you could. No time for one-liners, not if you wanted to keep on breathing and Abby intended to do that for a good long while yet.

"How did I fuck up?" His tone was musing this time, almost philosophical, but there was still an edge to it, something ragged underneath the too smooth surface. "In a thousand different ways, most of which I won't have been told about yet." And then his voice grew sharp and hard. "And how did you fuck up? Never learned how to duck? Or did your momma teach you and you were just too slow? Because I might be locked down here, sweetheart, but you're the one who got locked in with me."

"And I should be scared by that?" She kept her voice steady, never moving her eyes away from where he was sitting, a darker shape against the dull grey wall behind him.

"You should be fucking terrified."

"I didn't get the memo," she said coolly and he snorted again, the sound harsher even than the rasping, metallic scrape that rang out as he shifted position, stretching his body out until she could make out long limbs.

His feet were bare, pale in the weak moonlight coming in from the high window, which meant that it hadn't been his boots she'd heard scraping against the concrete. She risked moving a couple of steps to her right, deliberately unstudied. He turned his head and watched her, focused on her in a way that caught her breath in her throat and set her heart pounding again in her chest.

She could make out more of his shape now, but as she strained her eyes to see more of him, he turned his head away, keeping stubbornly silent. The longer he kept silent, the more she wanted - needed - him to break it. She could rationalise it if she needed to, but at least part of it, she thought bleakly, came down to the fact that she was twenty one years old, locked in the dark with something far older. Evil bloodsucking leech or not, at least he was company.

She took a deep breath, letting it out and not missing the fact that it was shaky. Maybe that was what pushed her into pushing him. "Why should I be scared?" she needled.

He stayed silent, but at least he was listening. He shifted again, angling towards her. She couldn't see his face, but maybe she'd wished hard enough; the clouds outside drifted further past, and faint silvery moonlight streamed through the window. He wasn't in its path, but the room brightened enough for her to make out more of his form, catching the sharpness of his cheekbone, something sparkling briefly in the lobe of one ear as he turned his head.

He pulled further back into the shadows, drawing his feet back. The light was enough for her to catch the gleam of metal around his ankles before they, too, disappeared out of sight.

"Why should you be scared?" His voice drifted out of the darkness, and there was no amusement in it this time, just something old and remote, cold enough to send shivers down her spine. "I may be wrong about this - it's been known to happen before," and there was the amusement, back in his voice, like he couldn't stop finding things funny no matter how dire his situation, "but I'm pretty sure they didn't put **you** in here to eat **me**." He leaned forward, the light catching in the gleam of his eye.

"Or maybe they did," he added, and the prickles ran down her arms. "First thing you did when you woke up was to check for weapons. Meaning you're the kind of girl who carries weapons. And that leaves me with two questions. Well, three really..." He trailed off, leaving an expectant little pause in his wake that she was determined not to fill.

After a moment, he sighed, the sound loaded with overdone disappointment. "Firstly, what's a nice - and tasty, I'd bet - little hunter like you doing in a dive like this?"

She kept her silence, ignoring his little inquisitive head tilt, and he sighed again, the sound softer this time, with an edge to it she couldn't quite make out.

"Secondly," he continued blithely on, although his voice was a little thready this time, a little distant. "Did they leave you any? Weapons, that is, and I'd guess not or I'd probably already be dust."

Abby cleared her throat, the sound echoing too loudly in her ears. "What's the third question?" she asked, hoping that the fact that she was finally answering him would throw him off balance and keep him there for long enough that he couldn't dwell on the idea of her being unarmed.

"Talking of eating... I don't suppose there's any chance of you coming over here and sucking my dick?"

The crudeness of it startled a laugh out of her, one that echoed around the chamber. It caught in her throat as she pulled it back, but too late - his teeth flashed in the darkness, his face splitting in a sudden grin.

"Do you always sexually harass your dinner?" she asked, and some of her lingering amusement at him crept into her voice, warming it up in spite of her fear and her instinctive hatred of his kind.

"Well, if you're not going to let **me** eat **you**..."

"I think I'll pass," she said dryly, and he let out a soft sound that was a hairsbreadth from disappointment.

"My loss," he said, and for a second it sounded like he actually meant it. But then he shifted position again, the outline of his head emerging in the dimness, and she knew he was back to watching her closely, hungrily.

"What's the plan?" she asked, and her voice was too weak. She cleared her throat and tried again. "You batter me with bad one-liners and when I've finally lost the will to fight, you strike?"

"You think that Danica would actually let me in on the plan? Assuming she has one and isn't just fucking with me for the hell of it?"

"Who's Danica?"

He didn't answer her, and she heard the scraping of metal against concrete again. The sound had a sharp edge to it this time, as though he'd shifted position suddenly, jerking in impatience or something else she couldn't read. And then his voice echoed out of his corner again, sounding dead.

"Does it matter?"

She licked her lips; they were dry, as was her mouth, her heart back to tripping fast and uncomfortably in her chest.

"So what now?" she asked, and the words came out soft, maybe more than a little scared, but she couldn't dwell on it. He'd said he could smell her blood. She'd be surprised if he couldn't also smell her fear.

"I'm going to kill you," he said, and there was no glee in his tone, none of the over-the-top boasting or hyperbole she was used to from the vamps she hunted, at least those who'd lived long enough to talk. Instead he sounded tired, old suddenly in a way he hadn't before. "Sooner or later I'm going to kill you. That's why you're here. Don't doubt that, sweetheart."

She didn't.

"Who's Danica?" she asked again, because any information was better than none.

He shifted again, that ever-present clank of chains that accompanied his every movement setting her teeth on edge. "Aren't you going to ask me not to kill you?"

"Would it do any good?"

He tilted his head at her sharp tone, back to watching her. She still couldn't see his eyes, not now that he'd retreated into the shadows, and it bothered her more than she wanted to admit. "No," he admitted, and the bastard actually sounded regretful, or faked it really well, which was the more likely scenario. "Believe me, princess. It's better than the alternative."

"Letting me live?"

"Letting you become like this." There was a pause, and then he added, "I don't think fangs would be your thing, sweetheart. I mean, far be it from me to complain about hot, long-legged, and toothy chicks, but the psychotic bitch side of the equation tends to be a boner-killer, you know?"

There was nothing she could say to that. She lapsed into silence, and he followed her lead, although he was restless. She could tell that from the low clinking of the chains that rattled out every now and then.

Her head was still throbbing, and the silence only made her more aware of it, nothing to distract her from the sharp pain behind her eyeballs. She kept her eyes focused on him, but he stayed in the shadows and for once he didn't seem to be paying her any attention. She risked bringing her fingers up to her forehead, gingerly pressing in where the skin throbbed the most, a tight and sore knot, and swallowed down the instinctive hiss of pain when she pressed too hard.

"It's still bleeding," he said, his voice dull and drained of colour, bleak and hopeless. "In case you were wondering."

She swallowed again. "You can still smell me," she said. It wasn't a question.

"Yes, I can smell you." There was another clatter and scrape of chains, managing to sound sharp and frustrated this time. "And you smell so fucking good."

Abby took a step back, and then another until cold, brick wall hit her back. It put steel and stone into her spine again and she straightened up, fingers flexing, ready for him.

"Relax." He clanked his chains again, the sound twitchy and irritated. "You're safe for now, sweetheart."

"Don't call me that," she growled, the sudden spike of fear fading and leaving her pissed at his easy familiarity, his casualness at the idea that sooner or later he'd kill her. Slaughter her like she was a fucking animal.

"You got a name I should call you instead?" he asked, back to conversational. His shifts in mood, from friendly to dangerous and then back again, were leaving her edgy and off-balance, which was probably exactly as he intended. She stayed silent, not wanting to give him any power over her, even if keeping silent might be doing just that, but her silence simply seemed to goad him. "Should I just call you kitten?"

"Do that and I'll tear your fucking face off."

He laughed, hard and fast as though she'd said the funniest thing he'd heard in a long time, and maybe it was.

"I like you, hunter, I really do."

It wasn't much of an improvement on 'kitten' and she let her lips curl up in a snarl, half fury and half - though it pained her to admit it - amusement at his antics. She shot back straight from the hip, as though she was used to this sort of exchange, "I bet you say that to all the girls you're going to eat."

"The boys, too." He laughed again, body shaking with mirth before he finally stilled with a hissing breath she caught. "I'm an equal opportunity asshole." There was a pause before he repeated, sounding almost wistful, as if vampires were capable of such things, "I like you, sweetheart."

She had no idea what to say to that, not when there was something close to truth in his voice, and it was difficult not to feel some vague, creeping sympathy for him, chained up here in the dark, waiting for the sun to rise and turn him into ash and dust.

Maybe she'd hit her head too hard, or maybe Frank was right and she thought about things too fucking much and too fucking deep, but the idea of what he'd done to deserve this, how he'd pissed off his own kind this much, was eating at her the way that the sunlight would eat at him, burning all the way through her until she couldn't stand it any more. And any intel was better than none. "How long have you been down here?"

He shifted again, restless in a way that would set her teeth on edge even if they weren't trapped here together. "You mean, how long has it been since I pissed Danica off enough to put me down here?" He hesitated for a long moment, and she couldn't tell whether that was simply because he felt the need to drag it out as melodramatically as possible for his own purposes, or because he was wondering whether to answer her at all. "What day is it again?"

There was reluctance in his tone, unless she was imagining it. He was good, or he was genuine, and she wasn't sure which of those was worse.

He waited her out until she cleared her throat and offered, "Tuesday."

"Huh." There was another pause and then he added, back to chatty, the sudden shifts in his mood giving her whiplash, "More than three weeks, then. This time."

The phrasing had to be deliberate, just a little hint to whet her appetite for more, get her leaning in a little closer, make her feel a little more sympathetic. She couldn't figure him out, his angle or his damage. The one thing she was sure of was that she wasn't going to take whatever bait he was laying out. She stared up at the window instead, wondering how he'd survived almost a month down here. The only Day Walker she knew of was Blade; any others were the stuff of legend, not the reality she dealt with every day.

"They close the shutters," he said, and it was eerie how he'd caught her thoughts. "Before the sun comes up." He shifted again, moving further into the moonlight. It brought him closer to her and she tensed, ready for treachery, but he simply moved as far as he could until the chains around his wrists tautened and jerked him back with a hiss.

"They don't close the far one," he said, jerking his head to the far end of the room. If she'd turned and looked, maybe she'd have seen another patch of light. She kept her eyes firmly on him instead.

He wasn't paying her any attention. Instead he was sitting back on his heels and just staring down the room. It was too dim to make out the expression on his face, but there was something about the tension in his frame that set her heart thumping in her chest again.

Maybe he heard it, because he turned his head to look at her, sitting back on his heels and just watching her for long, silent moments, like he was trying to figure out what was going on in her mind. Or maybe it was just the sound of her heartbeat that caught his attention, echoing in his ears as well as in hers, only for him it was the siren call of prey.

"The sunlight's about six inches too far away." His voice was light, but he didn't relax. His frame was still tense, as though he was poised for action. When he finally smiled, it was close-lipped, no teeth glinting in the darkness, not this time. "Enough to give me a tan, maybe, but not enough to make me burn."

The words crawled over her skin, making her shiver with a combination of pity and repulsion. She faced death pretty much every time she picked up her gun, her blades or her bow and stalked out into the night, but the idea of sitting in the darkness, waiting for it to come - **wanting** it to come - and being denied...

That might actually come close to her idea of hell.

He didn't miss her reaction, not as closely as he was watching her or as close as he was getting to crawling under her skin. "Are you actually feeling sorry for me, hunter?" He sounded like he might be pissed at the idea, but she couldn't get a clear read on him. **Something** was lurking in his voice, turning it bitter and hard-edged, but that could have been anything, from anger to grief.

He tilted his head, chains clattering again as he shifted impatiently, and it sent another shiver through her. It wasn't pity, not this time. She shouldn't need reminding that he was dangerous, he himself had said as much, and yet...

She'd stepped away from the wall, just one step towards him before she realised and came back to herself. Sweat dripped down her spine like icy fingers. She stepped back until she was pressed up against the rough brickwork.

She should say something smart or at least smart ass, but instead she just stared at him and he stared back.

He broke the silence first, of course; she was beginning to think that he'd never met a silence he didn't feel the urge to fill. "So you ever going to tell me your name, sweetheart?"

She wasn't going to answer him, not and give him another route into the inside of her head. He was already in too far and too deep for her comfort, especially if she was starting to feel some sympathy for him. She should... she should give him a name that wasn't hers, something to build the rapport between them so that she could damned well use it. Frank would do something like that, but Frank wasn't here. Just Abigail Whistler, alone in the dark with something she was beginning to think was a little too human for her to cope with.

"Well, if you're not going to share, do you mind if I do?" He paused again expectantly, sighing when she kept silent. "My name is Hannibal King." His voice was quiet, almost reflective, and it was drawing her in again in spite of her resolve.

She rolled the name - odd and old - around in her head for a moment, feeling the shape of it and how it fit him; it was only when she caught sight of his teeth flashing in the darkness - a sudden, shark-like smile - that she realised that she must have repeated his name out loud.

"You can laugh if you like," he offered graciously, humour lacing his voice. "Not like you'd be the first."

"But it would be the last thing I'd ever do?"

He laughed. "Yeah, sweetheart. That would be why I killed you. Not because I'm a fucking vampire."

"Get the shit kicked out of you at school?" she asked, and it didn't come out as cocky or as sharp as she'd been hoping.

"Not as bad as my elder brother," he shot back. "His name's Hephaestion."

She barked out a laugh, her hand coming up to her mouth too late to stop it.

He seemed to appreciate it. When he shifted again, it was to lean towards her, as though he was about to share a confidence. "It could have been worse," he continued, his tone musing. "At least by the time I started school, the other kids were half-convinced that I was named after Hannibal Smith. That earned me some coolness points."

It took her a moment to place the name - she'd never been one for pop culture, not beyond the music that had mapped out the beat of her teenage years - but even she couldn't avoid re-runs entirely.

"The A-Team?" she ventured, her memory hazy, but he cocked his finger at her, a universal 'you got it' gesture that seemed all too human.

"Got it in one, sweetheart."

He was young, she realised, her stomach lurching suddenly as the realisation struck her. Not much older than her, even if he'd watched it as it first aired. He couldn't have much more than a decade on her, maybe a little more, maybe a little less.

' _His name is_ ' he'd said about his brother. Not ' _his name was_ '. The idea that he might still have family out there somewhere was horrific all on its own.

"How long?" she asked, her mouth suddenly dry as dust.

He cocked his head again, not seeming to follow her. "How long did they tease me? How long did I let them? How long is my dick? C'mon, sweetheart. You've got to give me a little more than that." He paused a beat and then added, "The answer to that last question is 'very', by the way. Just in case you were wondering."

"I wasn't," she answered automatically, too caught up in the idea of him as young to take offence or to take any notice of his rambling. "How long since you were vamped?"

He stilled; the sudden absence of that constant shifting of his - so ever-present that it had become background noise, something she'd forgotten he was even doing - struck her more any of his words could. "Is vamped actually a word?" he asked mildly, but she didn't miss the tension in his voice. "To vamp. I vamped, you vamped, they were vamped? Not convinced by the etymology of that one, sweetheart."

"How long?"

He twitched, a jangle of chains that had her twitching in response. From the shape of his body in the dim moonlight, she thought he'd looked away from her.

"What's the year?" he asked, and his voice was back to quiet. "I lose track sometimes."

"Two thousand and two. June," she added, in case that made a difference.

"Five years then," he said. His tone was dreamy, distracted - almost as though he'd forgotten she was there. "Give or take."

Five years. Jesus. She'd been sixteen, maybe seventeen, when he'd been turned, and maybe he hadn't been much older.

"How?" she whispered, and he snorted.

"And just like that we're back to the personal questions." The bitterness in his voice silenced her but he didn't need her input to keep talking. When he spoke again, the bitterness had faded - drawn back under the surface, if she'd had to guess, but not gone entirely. "So you expect me to just share even though you won't even tell me your name?"

Maybe it was the idea that he'd only been a few years older than her. Maybe it was the idea that he was down here, alone in the dark, and had been for days and days. Maybe she was just so fucking tired and couldn't think straight, couldn't see a way out, but her name - her real one - hovered on the tip of her tongue until she bit it back, waiting him out.

She didn't have to wait long.

"I picked up this little hottie in a bar," he said, and the rattle of his chains this time sounded like he'd shrugged his shoulders. "Turned out her eyes were bigger than her stomach."

"Danica," she guessed, and he snorted.

"Got it in one. I always go for the crazy 'do not engage' ones, you know?" She didn't, not really. "But Danica kind of blew them all away in the fucking up my life stakes."

"She didn't mean to turn you?" she hazarded.

"Who the fuck knows? Danica certainly isn't the sharing kind." The acidity was back in his voice, sharp-edged and stinging. "Besides, does it really matter? Do you hunters sort vampires into different types now? Definitely evil, only moderately evil, and worth saving?"

All of her words had been stolen away. Just when she thought she had a handle on him, he switched again, all over the place. He leaned forward until she could see the curve of his cheek again in the moonlight, the gleam of his eye and the glint of a fang.

"I haven't exactly been shy about killing people since then. I don't think that any of us are worth fucking saving."

She watched his fingers flex against the ground, sharp nails clear in the moonlight, and thought about him reaching for the sun. "Abigail," she whispered, the word finally creeping past her lips in spite of her caution.

His fingers stilled, palm pressing firmly against the ground. And then he sighed.

"You probably shouldn't have told me that."

"Probably not. But it's not the first stupid thing I've done tonight, is it?"

He snorted. "You and me both, sweetheart. You and me both."

She let the wall take her weight, watching him and not bothering to hide it. It wouldn't do much good to pretend anyway and maybe, just maybe, she was crawling into his head the same way that he was crawling into hers.

"Are you at least hot?" he asked when she didn't look away. "Abigail," he added seemingly as an afterthought. He purred the word out, and she hadn't thought that was possible before now. Her name was too old, too staid to be sexy. He was too far into her head. She was going to lose it if she wasn't careful.

"I was wondering the same thing about you," she shot back, the fear, being constantly on edge, making her a little stupid. The words left her mouth dry, her heart hammering in her chest. She'd overstretched herself, leaving him an opening into her head, and in doing that she'd left herself vulnerable and exposed to the next little mind trick he might want to play.

He laughed, a deep and rich sound that sent a shiver through her.

"You are so full of shit, Abby."

She swallowed, her tongue darting out to wet her dry lips. "We've gone straight to Abby? That's a little familiar. Were you one?"

"Was I what? A familiar?" He snorted again. "I strike you as a wannabe, Abby? Someone who crawls around, looking for favours? Looking for **this**?" He jerked his chains so that the metal screeched as it ran through whatever fastenings attached it to the wall or floor. "On my knees, sucking someone's dick for the chance of immortality?"

"Well," she pointed out coolly, letting her fingers slowly uncurl from defensive fists and evening out her breathing again. "You are on your knees. And I don't judge about anything else."

That sent another rumble of laughter through him, another switch in mood. "You are something else, Abigail..." He trailed off, inviting her to fill the gap he'd left with the rest of her name, but she wasn't that stupid, not yet so far under his spell that she was giving everything away.

"So tell me about Danica?"

"Danica's hell on wheels," he said, "and not in a good way." He sounded tired now, all of the life drained out of his voice. It jarred; vampires weren't exactly undead, not like the books would have people believe, but, vampire or not, up until now Hannibal King might actually have been the most alive person she'd ever met. He certainly was the most changeable.

But she wasn't going to let him distract her, not about this. Not when she was making the gamble of her life - with her life.

"So how does she fit into things? How do you?"

"Are you always this nosy? I'm beginning to think that you're only interested in my brain. Personally, if I were you, I'd go for the body every single time."

"Yeah, well, I've got a feeling that you only want me for my blood, so..."

His laughter spluttered out this time, sounding genuine, but then he was good at that. "Oh, I think I'd probably want you for more than that, Abigail. Like I said - I like you."

It should have been comforting. It wasn't.

"You haven't answered my question," she pushed.

"No, I haven't." He still sounded tired rather than snippy, and he shifted position again, accompanied by another creaking and clanking of metal. "Do you really want to know?"

His voice was dead, deader than it had been up until now, and she bit her lip, a sudden insane idea that the way this conversation was going was hurting him. It was a stupid concept - she knew enough about vampires to know that they cared very little for anything but their most immediate comfort. For creatures as long lived as they were, they lived in the moment, all about appetites and how best to sate them as quickly as possible.

She didn't want to start considering whether or not she was wrong. Life wasn't a fucking Anne Rice novel; vampires were grotesques, not tortured souls.

"Tell me," she said softly.

"Why?" There was no curiosity in his voice, nothing but that dead, empty weight with five years behind it.

"Because you might have given up, you bastard, but I haven't. The more I know about your Danica, the better chance I have of getting out of here alive."

He laughed again, just once, a hard, harsh sound that did nothing to soothe her erratic temper. "Do you honestly think you stand a chance, Abby? Really?"

"No." Her voice was stone, cold and implacable, and that wasn't all down to Frank Reilly's training. "But I do know that I'm not about to sit around in the dark, waiting for death to come to me."

He was staring at her again, and she really wished - for one brief moment - that she could see his face, read some of whatever it was that was running through his mind.

"Give it five years, sweetheart," he said, and if her voice was cold, his was warming up, anger tingeing the edges red. "And you'll be fucking begging for it."

"Immortality overrated?"

"Five years," he repeated. "And I'm already fucking bored."

"So why not end it?" she pushed, needling him because she could, because she was scared, because she was angry.

"You think I haven't tried?" She could hear the smile in his voice, as sharp and bitter as an unripe apple. "The lock's on the **outside** of my door, sweetheart."

"So you won't take a walk in the sun?"

"I've thought about it," he said. "And it's a fucking awful way to die. But stepping in front of a hunter's blade, on the other hand..."

The ice water went down her spine again - it put his questions about whether she was still armed into a whole new light. The flash of fury that followed hard on the heels of her revelation took her by surprise. It was illogical and it was dangerous and she shouldn't fucking care when she was all about killing vampires, but the idea of being used like that...

He turned his head, his eyes catching the moonlight, shining eerily.

"Do me a favour, Abigail, and go and stand behind the door, there's a good girl."

She tensed, the tone in his voice - flat and just as eerie as the gleam of his eyes in the moonlight - sending tendrils of something like fear creeping through her body.

"Why?" she breathed, and maybe she took a step towards him, just one, before she stopped abruptly. "What the hell are you up -"

The lights overhead flicked on with a high pitched hum, and she blinked, suddenly blinded by the brightness, stumbling backwards until she hit the wall again, her heart racing as she readied herself for an attack that never came.

When her vision cleared again, adjusting to the brightness, King hadn't moved. He was still sitting in the same spot she'd last placed him in her mental map of the room, and he was watching her.

His eyes were golden, the colour washed out of them by the virus that had him in its grip rather than the bright fluorescent lights. She couldn't tell the colour they'd been originally, but his hair was dark and spiky, his face lean and angular. The skin beneath his eyes was parchment thin, and tiny tension lines creased the corners of his mouth. In spite of that, he looked as young as she'd expected, but he was a hell of a lot better looking than she'd anticipated, his skin pale and his bare chest covered with curling, dark hair the same shade as the hair on his head.

But it was his hands that caught her attention as he shifted again, an unconscious little twitch that had his fingers curling against the dirty fabric of his chinos. Faint tendrils of smoke rose from his wrists. He twitched again, the shackles moving further down towards his hands and leaving dark marks behind, the skin charred where they'd been resting.

The chains were silver, she realised with a sudden clench of pity in her chest. Silver or silver plated, which was more likely, burning him wherever they touched.

"Because Danica's coming," he said quietly. "I heard the starter warm up. She always likes the light on." His lips quirked, but there was no real amusement in his smirk.

Her mouth was dry, all of her spit ripped away by her fear. "You think I'll stand a chance if I hide behind the fucking door?" she asked, the disbelief clear in her voice.

"No," he admitted, and his voice was calm and even. "I think she'll catch you before you take three steps. But I think she'll be so pissed you tried that she'll kill you quick and clean. Snap your neck, just like that." He clicked his fingers, and the cuff slid further up his arm, the skin underneath puckering and burning in its wake.

"That's... comforting," she said, staring at his wrist and watching the skin heal over again, slowly and sluggishly as his mouth tightened with pain. There couldn't be enough silver in the metal to burn straight through his skin to the bone underneath, not as long he kept shifting so that it didn't rest in the same place for more than a few minutes at a time. But there'd be enough to hurt like fuck.

"Better than the alternative, sweetheart," he said, and he gave her a smile, the first she'd seen clearly. Maybe she wanted to believe it - because she was just that desperate or that stupid - but it really did seem genuinely sweet. "And, hey, maybe you'll actually take the bitch out. That I'd pay to see."

"I bet you say that to all the girls," she said absently, tearing her eyes away from him long enough to scope out the door and wonder whether it was actually feasible. When she turned back to look at him again, he was grinning at her, and this time the smile lit up his entire face.

He must have been a heartbreaker back when he'd been fully human.

"Only the cute ones," he said. "Nice meeting you, Abigail. Do your best not to get eaten, eh?"

If she'd had the energy, she would have rolled her eyes at him; as it was, she took two or three steps towards the door, pausing briefly to look back at him. He hadn't moved, although his eyes were tracking her, golden and opaque, giving nothing away.

It sent a shiver through her, but he was right. It might be the only chance she'd get - better than being trapped in a room with whatever came through the door. Better than being trapped between whatever came through the door and him.

Her heart rate slowed as she reached the door and braced herself against the wall behind it. She took a deep breath, then another, reaching down inside herself for that well of calm that rose up within her whenever it came down to a fight. It flowed through her, settling her as she rolled her shoulders, loosening herself for the battle to come. And when the door finally flew open, she threw the first kick.

It landed at chest height - she'd been aiming for head height, anticipating that whoever this Danica was, she'd be no taller than Abby. Frank Reilly was six foot and broad with it, but she still managed to knock him back several inches.

"Jesus **fuck** , girl!" His hand flew to his chest, the heel of his palm rubbing firmly at his breastbone while he stared at her, his ever-present scowl settling on his face. "It's the vamps you want to kill, not me."

Her breath escaped her in a gasp, fingers tingling as the adrenaline surged through her. It made her stupid and reckless - or perhaps that was King's brief influence. Before she could think better of it, she snapped out, "Learn to duck," and Frank's frown deepened, the piercing look in his blue eyes making her squirm. Behind him, Mick waggled his eyebrows at her, the look on his face telling her quite clearly that he thought she'd lost her mind, answering Frank back like that while they were still in the field.

Maybe she had. She didn't know any more, but it was a good job Mick hadn't come through the door first or she would have kicked his face in - he was a good four or five inches shorter than Frank.

"You okay?" Frank asked her, giving her a slow once over, a look that managed to be both concerned and impersonal at once.

"I'll live," she said, keeping it brief and to the point, the way that Frank preferred. "How did you find me?"

He grunted, switching his attention from her to the rest of the room, the little he could see of it from the doorway. "Beat it out of some familiars. They're quick to help when -"

He'd stepped into the room, stopping abruptly when he spotted King, his hand flying to his firearm. It was instinct to reach out and stop him, her hand slapping down his arm when he aimed, even if it wasn't a very smart instinct.

"What the fuck, Whistler?" Mick was the one who interjected; Frank never minced words. He simply turned his head, staring Abby down until she let go and stepped back. "He's a fucking vamp!"

"I got that, thank you," she snapped back, turning her attention to Mick because it was a hell of a lot easier than meeting Frank's eyes and the questions in them, questions she wasn't sure she knew how to answer. "He's chained up; he's no danger."

"How the fuck do you know that?" Mick's voice was growing high pitched, the way it always did when he got wound up about something or other, and she had no patience left for him, not when she'd used it all on King.

"Because he hasn't eaten me." She winced the moment the words were out of her mouth, turning to jab a finger in King's direction with a scowl that couldn't even come close to Frank's worst for sheer terrifying. "Not a word," she warned him before he could even open his troublesome mouth. He flashed her an amused look, but it was Mick's mouth that slammed shut, his gaze darting between her and King. Under other circumstances, the confused and bewildered look on his face might have been funny, but Frank was looming and he wouldn't have agreed.

Frank took two steps further into the room, his finger resting on the trigger of his weapon. His face was impassive, unreadable as far as Abby was concerned. He didn't point the gun in King's direction; he didn't need to.

King seemed to get that. For once he didn't have any smart ass remarks; instead he watched Frank move slowly towards him, his face giving absolutely nothing away.

"Your friends aren't here," Frank said slowly. Another man might have tried to make the words menacing, but Frank didn't need to resort to those kinds of theatrics. His voice was as impassive as his expression; it was enough to silence Abby, but nothing short of death was likely to silence King.

King tilted his head, the gesture now too familiar to Abigail to be comfortable. "Would those be the same friends who left me chained up down here?" he asked. "Please tell me you killed them."

Frank let out a snort. "Think I'm not going to kill you, too, **vampire**?"

King shrugged. "I'm pretty sure you are, actually. But I'd appreciate it if you didn't give me one of those overblown, heroic speeches first. You know the ones. All about how you're ridding the world of evil, striking a blow for humanity against the forces of darkness, how I'll get my just deserts burning in hell, yadda, yadda..." He paused, his golden eyes focused firmly on Frank even though his expression managed to give the impression that he was bored out of his skull. "I'd prefer it if you just shot me now. No, really. I mean it. Shoot me now."

Frank simply stared at him, not amused, before his gun hand slowly rose again. "Happy to oblige," he said, and Abby's fingers twitched, the near-suicidal impulse to push Frank's arm down again rising perilously close to the surface.

Maybe it was King's show of nonchalance - one that was not entirely genuine, because his jaw tightened as Frank's finger came to rest on the trigger - but Frank didn't shoot. Instead he gave King a long, considering look, the kind that set the hairs of the back of her neck tingling. And then he lowered his weapon.

"Maybe I should just let the sun do it," he said. "Not waste a fucking bullet on you."

Abby didn't miss the sudden flash of fear that crossed King's face and judging from the way that Frank's mouth twitched into a hard-edged half-smile, Frank hadn't missed it either. King's eyes darted away from Frank as the fight temporarily drained out of him, and then he swallowed heavily, turning back to meet Frank's eyes again and pasting a blasé look on his face that didn't fool her for a second.

"Messy," he said, "but what the fuck? Dead's dead."

"We have a cure."

The words spilled out of her before she could stop them and she didn't need Frank's sudden glare in her direction or Mick's sudden intake of breath to tell her she'd screwed up. But now that she was committed, she intended to see it through.

King froze, turning his head towards her. His face was expressionless and his eyes suddenly wary. He swallowed again, but she didn't think it was with fear this time. In spite of his blank expression, his body grew tense, angling towards her, a dreadful kind of eagerness in the fluid lines of it.

"You're lying," he said, but he didn't sound convinced. There was longing in his voice, something so hard and clear that it sounded like greed or need, or maybe even a combination of both.

"No," she said, holding his eyes and knowing that hers were challenging, unyielding. Frank's fingers tightened around her upper arm, dragging her back towards the entrance, his mouth thinning into an ominous line.

She shot a quick look at Frank, taking in his stormy expression, before she tore her gaze away again and looked back towards King, catching one last glimpse of him before they turned the corner. King was still leaning forward, eyes bright and his expression hungry and half-broken as he watched her go.

"What the hell, Whistler?" Frank cursed at her as soon as they were out of earshot. "Have you lost your goddamned mind?" His anger was a palpable thing, vibrating through his body and tightening his fingers so that they pressed into her skin past the point of pain. She'd have bruises there tomorrow, matching the ones on the rest of her body, the ones she'd actually earned.

She took a deep breath, fighting the impulse to snatch her arm away from Frank's grip. Fighting the impulse not to punch his fucking lights out. She was no match for him, not yet and maybe not ever, and besides, she knew where he was coming from. But she also knew, somehow deep in her bones, that this was the right thing - the **smart** thing - to do.

"Sommerfield's looking to test her enhanced antivirus," she said, as calmly as she was able. The words still came out too sharply, too _strongly_ , and she took a deep breath, not missing the dismissive look in Frank's eye. "The one she thinks might actually work on vamps, not just the ones who haven't turned yet. Jesus, Frank. She's been nagging you for weeks about finding a subject."

"Not him."

"Why not?" His eyes flashed with anger at her tone and she took a deep breath, stepping back from him, his fingers finally slipping from her arm. Her flesh ached but she didn't reach up and rub where it was sore, and she didn't take her eyes off Frank. "If what he told me is true, he's only been a vamp for five years, Frank. Five years, not five hundred. Where else are we guaranteed to find a relative newborn?"

" _If_ he's telling the truth."

"Yes." She tried not to snap out the word, reining in her eagerness. "But Frank, he's chained up with silver. He's goddamned gift-wrapped."

"That's what's worrying me," Frank said heavily, and she blinked at him, thrown. "Jesus, Abby, sometimes I forget that you're so goddamned young."

The words stung, but she swallowed down the hurt. Looked at it as dispassionately as possible, he was right. He had nearly twenty years more experience of this than she did, and she knew him well enough to know when to shut up and listen to him.

"You think it's a trap," she said evenly, and Frank snorted, glancing back towards the makeshift dungeon with a kind of remote anger in his eyes. "Maybe it is," she admitted. "But for it to be a trap, they'd have to know we had a cure, or the chance of one. Do you think that's likely?"

She wasn't challenging him; he needed to know that. She was simply putting it out there, and Frank was smart enough - old enough and grizzled enough - to pick his fights with care. He was right - she was wet behind the ears, but he didn't need to throw his weight around with her. Reason worked much better.

"You think it isn't?"

She gave the question the consideration it deserved, turning it over in her mind. "Maybe," she said slowly. "But if they know, I think we'd have seen a lot more effort to root us out, find Karen Jenson at least, even if they don't know that Sommerfield's been building on her work."

Frank let out a snort again, but it was thoughtful rather than dismissive this time. "Jenson's gone to ground," he said, "and I can't blame her for that one. Blade tends to have that effect - if you're not dead at the end of it, you need to fall off the fucking grid."

Abby kept her silence, thinking of the one person who'd done both - her father. Instead she watched Frank as the wheels turned over in his mind, all of the angles considered, all of the risks rooted out and examined.

"Okay," he said slowly. "Maybe they don't know. Maybe he was just supposed to get you to talk. I'd guess he's cute, if you go for that type." His voice was dispassionate but he turned his head and gave her a look that said clearly what he thought of that.

She bit back on her irritation, settling on a mild, "I think he wants this. I think he wants this badly enough that maybe he's the one who's going to end up talking."

Frank grunted. She kept her face as expressionless as she could, but Frank was older and wiser; who the hell knew what he could see there.

"Okay," he said eventually, and she was careful not to give any sign that his answer affected her one way or another - it didn't, no matter what Frank thought, but who knew what he saw, or thought he saw. "Since he's gift-wrapped," he phrased the words ironically, "we take him with us, see if Sommerfield can use him. If not, we stake him."

He held her gaze steadily but she didn't look away, limiting herself to a brief nod and earning one of his rare smiles in response.

"Okay, Whistler. You're up. Tell your boy he gets the cure, and if he doesn't co-operate nicely, he gets the sharp end of my best silver blade."

She nodded again, taking a deep breath as she stepped back towards the room, schooling her face into impassivity. Only now did she rub her arm, dropping her fingers back down to her side before she stepped through the doorway.

King was waiting for her, sitting back on his haunches, his eyes fixed firmly on the door. Mick was standing to one side of him, too close, within the range of movement King's chains allowed him. Mick's expression was fixed in a sneer, and his fingers were tapping against the stock of his weapon, a staccato rhythm that gave away more than Mick meant to.

Dex was leaning against the wall, safely outside of King's range, his arms folded and his expression drawn down into a thoughtful little frown, silent and watchful as usual. He glanced up from his contemplation of King when Abby entered the room, treating her to a brief nod of acknowledgement before his attention once again turned back to King.

King was ignoring both of them. He only had eyes for Abby, straightening up slightly when she finally came to a stop, meeting his gaze.

"You're lying," he repeated, picking up the conversation as though she'd never left. He still didn't sound convinced by his own words, more as though he wanted to believe them, didn't want to have that hope.

She shook her head, not looking away from him no matter how difficult it was to meet those inhuman eyes. "You must have heard the rumours," she said gently. He licked his lips and looked away, his fingers trembling slightly where they were pressed against his legs. He didn't answer her, and she pushed on. "That some victims have been bitten but not turned?"

He swallowed, still not meeting her eyes. "Bitten's not the same as..." He trailed off, his fingers jerking, but she got his meaning.

"An antivirus is an antivirus." She kept her voice as even as possible, and not just because she didn't want to spook King. Frank's presence was heavy in the room behind her; she could feel him in the tension that ran along her spine, in the way that her scalp prickled. He was watching her, waiting for her to screw up before he stepped in, or maybe hoping she wouldn't screw up at all. With Frank, she couldn't always tell.

King's face slackened, smoothing out and giving very little away. She figured it was a reflexive thing, but the skin around his eyes was still tight with tension, and the look in them was lost, a thousand yard stare while he turned it over in his mind.

"How many?" he asked, finally dragging his eyes back towards her. "How many vamps have you cured?"

She felt the muscles around her mouth tighten, and King didn't miss it, staring at her while she searched for an answer. In the end, the truth was the only way to go. "You'd be the first fully-fledged active one," she said, and he laughed, full and rich, with a biting edge to it.

"So I'd be the lab rat?" His face was bright with mirth, but his eyes looked hard and cold, although she couldn't tell whether that was simply down to the effect of the harsh overhead lights. "Wow. An offer I can totally refuse."

"What have you got to lose?" she asked him, straining to keep her voice even.

His lips compressed into a tight line as he glanced away from her again, and the look on his face was faintly troubled, like there was a lot more going on under his surface than she could ever hope to know. When he looked back his expression was set, settled into grim lines.

"And if it doesn't work?"

She wasn't going to lie to him. It was pointless anyway - in spite of his mouth and his tendency to be an ass, she didn't figure him for a fool. "Either the antivirus kills you or we do."

His face settled into that carefully blank mask again, his eyes losing focus as he mulled her offer over. "So I'm either cured or I die," he said, and Frank shifted behind her, impatience and a barely concealed threat of violence in the sound.

King ignored him, staring out into space for one long, silent moment. And then he nodded abruptly, more to himself, it seemed, than to her. "Sounds like a win-win situation to me." He closed his eyes, turning his face up towards the bright lights overhead. "I'm in."

-o-


	2. Chapter 2

The ride back to base was as tense as she could have anticipated. King didn't seem to be in the mood to make any friends, going out of his way to catch Mick's eye just to remind Mick of his existence and piss Mick off even more. Whether that had something to do with the years King had spent with this Danica and it being a hard habit to break or whether it was just a facet of King's normal personality, Abby didn't know and didn't care. The only thing that stopped her from turning a blind eye to Mick's less than subtle shoves and kicks as he fidgeted was the way that the skin around King's eyes tightened every time the silver cuffs dug into his flesh, a sharp little reminder of the fact that King wasn't the only bastard in the truck.

Abby had her own guilt about that, even if King didn't complain about it out loud the way that he felt the need to complain about everything else, from the air conditioning to the admittedly overpowering scent of Mick's cologne.

"No, seriously," King said, widening his eyes comically at Mick, although perhaps Abby was the only one who noticed how watchful his gaze stayed. "Vampires do have a sense of smell, you know, and you're pretty much advertising the fact that you're coming." He paused for a beat, and Abby was familiar enough by now with the rhythms of the way he interacted with the world to know that something else was coming. She wasn't disappointed. "From several blocks away, actually."

"If you don't shut it, I'm going to shove your fucking teeth down your fucking throat," Mick snarled.

"Fangs," offered King helpfully, and flashed them in a smile, just to piss Mick off further.

It worked. Mick pushed himself up, his face contorted in a rictus of fury, and Abby threw out her arm, slamming him back into his seat again before he could launch himself at King.

"Quit it," she snapped, glaring at King. "Or I will let him shove your fangs down your throat." King's expression settled into an apologetic little moue, which was something, even if it was aimed in her direction rather than at Mick.

She ignored it, but she was less inclined to ignore Mick's little smirk of triumph, especially not when he stretched his leg out again and 'accidentally' slammed his steel-toed boot down onto King's bare foot.

King's lips curled up, his fangs exposed again, but she didn't think it was anger this time. Pain, maybe, especially when he drew his feet back, tucking them under his seat as far as he could.

Mick raised his foot again. "Do it and I'll feed you to him," Abby said evenly, and Mick hesitated, his gaze darting between Abby and King before he subsided, settling back into his seat with a grimace.

Abby met Frank's eyes in the rear view mirror. They were cool and assessing, and she dropped her gaze, staring out of the window instead at the unformed darkness outside as it rolled past.

When she finally turned her attention back into the inside of the truck again, King was watching her, his look as assessing as Frank's had been but without the same coolness. There was a small frown creasing his brow, like he was trying to figure her out and failing. She met his eyes calmly and this time he was the one to look away.

"Do you have to fucking fidget?" Mick snapped out, his jaw tense and his knee jiggling up and down as his fingers clenched into a fist. He was glaring at King, the hatred clear in his eyes, and she got it, she really did, no matter what Mick might think. It wasn't easy for her to be this close to a vampire either, not without staking the fucker, and she had considerably less reason to hate them than Mick.

So she didn't snap back at Mick, not this time, but let her thigh press against his for a moment, just a subtle reminder that she was there and that, when push came to shove, she'd be shoving on Mick's side.

Mick pulled his leg back, all the 'fuck you' she needed and more than she wanted, but he was fidgeting as badly as King. His body knocked into hers each time he shuffled around in his seat, making the ache behind her eyeballs worse. She sighed, resisting the urge to rub her forehead, not wanting to show any sign of weakness to these men - any of them.

"The silver's burning him," she said quietly, and Mick let out a short, ugly little laugh.

"Good," he said.

The muscle to one side of King's jaw twitched, but for once he didn't have a smart comeback. Or maybe he did but finally thought better of it. He simply glanced at Abby and then turned his face away, staring out at the darkness, much as she had done. The skin under his eye tightened fractionally, but that - and the constant movement - was the only real sign that his shackles were paining him. Dex shuffled in his seat, next to King's, and Abby switched her attention from King to him, tensing up. Mick she got - he was a hot-headed little shit sometimes - but Dex was so laid back that he was virtually horizontal. If he started on King, she wasn't sure she could stop him.

But Dex didn't seem interested in starting anything. Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, crisp and cotton white, holding it out to King like he'd just pulled a rabbit out of a hat.

"It's clean," he said when King balked for a second, eyeing Dex like he thought the man had lost his mind. "Use it for your wrist, man." When King finally reached out and took it, still eyeing Dex with a look of utter confusion on his face, Dex turned away from him, crossing his ankles and folding his arms and meeting Abby's eyes with a slight shrug and an even slighter smile. "Might help."

Abby returned Dex's smile with a small one of her own, ignoring Mick's soft sound of disgust. She raised her eyebrows at him, and Dex shrugged again, ducking his head to hide his grin.

For once King's silence didn't have that watchful, wary quality she was growing used to. Instead, when she glanced back at him, he looked bewildered, as though he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. His fingers closed over the handkerchief and his face, when he glanced across at Dex, was unreadable. "Thank you," he said, and it sounded genuine.

He tucked the fabric under the shackle on his right wrist, which seemed to be paining him the worst, hissing and pulling his fingers back when they started to blister. The skin under the metal was black again, blistering and flaking, oozing clear plasma as it tried - and failed - to heal. The sight of it sent another unexpected and unwanted surge of pity through Abby. Quick and clean, no messing. That was how she killed vamps. This slow torture sickened her. She'd like to think it was a vamp thing, but she was old enough to know better, no matter what Frank thought of her naivety.

"Here," she said, leaning forward as far as her seatbelt would let her. She made quick work of it, tucking the fabric underneath the metal cuff until it was as padded as she could get it. She tried not to touch King, but it was impossible to avoid it entirely; his skin was smooth under her quick, impatient fingers, the soft, dark hairs on his arm brushing against her fingertips as she worked. He felt disturbingly human except for being slightly cool to the touch, but then he hadn't fed recently. Maybe if he had, he'd be warmer.

"Thank you," he said again when she'd finished, some of the tension leaching out of his body as the pain in that wrist faded to something he seemed better able to bear. The fingers of his left hand, where the cuff wasn't padded, still flexed and curled, as though moving made the burning in that wrist better rather than worse. Sweat had beaded on his upper lip and there were slight tremors running through him. The sight of it turned her stomach, a mixture of pity and revulsion with a hefty dose of fear thrown into the mix.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Mick snarled, startling her and putting her instantly on guard, all of her muscles tensing and the hairs rising on the nape of her neck. "Here." He pulled out a wad of tissues from the inside pocket of his jacket and flung them into King's lap. "Mine aren't clean but what the fuck. If it stops you wriggling like a fucking three-year-old..." He folded his arms, glaring at Abby over the top of them when she raised one eyebrow at him. "Not a fucking word, Whistler."

She turned her head away to hide her smile, leaning in to find a couple of tissues that were at least semi-clean and grimacing as she threw the ones that weren't down into the foot well. It was Mick's turn to clean the truck anyway.

"Thank you," King repeated, staring at Mick like he'd grown another head.

Mick snorted. "What are you? Fucking Canadian?"

King blinked at him. "Yes," he said, tilting his head to the side and giving Mick a quizzical look. "From Vancouver originally."

It was Mick's turn to blink, his mouth hanging half-open. And then he closed it with a snap. "Oh, for fuck's sake," he repeated weakly, wiping his hand tiredly over his face, which left his expression even more hangdog than usual. "Fucking figures." And then he stabbed one finger back in King's direction. "Don't make the mistake that this changes anything, you arsewipe. Still want you fucking dead. Just don't want you fucking fidgeting anymore."

King mouthed Mick's choice of insult, like he was trying out the feel of it, but his mocking was muted. Abby let her eyes track over his face, taking him in, examining his expression for any sign of what was going through his mind. His eyes were tired and his face drawn, as though under all of his insouciance he was exhausted and unable to hide it any longer. As soon as he caught her looking, he turned away again, staring out at the empty streets rolling past. The light from the streetlights they passed ebbed and flowed, a pulsing rhythm that fell upon his face, leaving him looking a little other worldly, something from myth and legend.

"Thank fuck he's shut up," Mick murmured sotto voce beside her and Abby pulled her eyes away from King, turning her attention straight ahead instead, towards their destination.

Her eyes met Frank's in the rear view mirror, and this time she didn't look away.

-o-

Frank must have called ahead because Sommerfield was waiting for them when they pulled up, Velasquez a wordless menace on the steps behind her. How the hell Sommerfield had persuaded the other woman that coming down to meet them when they had a vamp in tow was a good idea, Abby couldn't begin to guess, but Velasquez gave her a noncommittal nod as Abby stepped out of the truck, her broad face giving nothing away. She was armed, at least, her weapon unsheathed and held firmly by her side, ready just in case. And whatever arguments Velasquez may have had with Sommerfield before the rest of the cell rolled up, at least Sommerfield's daughter, Zoë, was firmly out of sight. Abby suspected that Zoë's safety might be the only thing that Sommerfield and Velasquez had actually agreed on.

Sommerfield still had enough smarts and self-preservation not to say anything, waiting with her head inclined, listening intently as the truck doors slammed shut. The sunglasses she wore day in and day out hid her eyes from view and if Abby hadn't already known she was blind, she wouldn't have been able to tell, so focused was Sommerfield on them.

Frank headed towards Sommerfield and Velasquez, casting a warning look back over his shoulder at the field team as he went. His gaze lingered longest on Abby, and she swallowed heavily, the fear of disappointing him a lead weight beneath her ribs.

There was a soft, metallic thump and she turned her head to find King leaning against the truck beside her, his eyes dull as he watched Frank stalk away. He blinked, slowly and sluggishly. It seemed that the truck was the only thing holding him up, which meant that the question Abby needed to focus on right then was whether a vampire running on fumes was more or less dangerous than usual.

"Who's that?" he asked, nodding his head towards Sommerfield. He didn't seem very interested in Abby's answer, so maybe he'd asked just to have something to say. Or maybe he was playing some form of long con. Abby weighed up her options and settled for the truth again. He'd figure some of it out eventually anyway, and it wasn't worth the effort of coming up with some sort of elaborate lie that he'd buy and that she'd be able to keep straight.

"She's the one who's going to cure you," she said.

"Hopefully." He said it as though he wasn't going to be able to believe it until it actually happened. It was probably a smart move on his part. "So is she actually a medical doctor or just someone who got their certificate in the mail?"

"She's a real doctor," Abby said evenly, refusing to either elaborate or get defensive. She suspected that either would be a win for King, and he didn't need to know that Sommerfield's doctorate was in genetics.

"Doctor Mengele," he muttered under his breath. It was a crass comparison from where she stood, but maybe he hadn't intended for her to overhear. Even so, she wasn't going to let it pass, not without smacking him down the way he seemed to need on a regular basis.

"Sommerfield," she corrected. "And, yes," she added when his brows lowered and his lips parted as though he was about to explain who the fuck Mengele was. "I got the reference."

"Ah." He shut his mouth with an audible click, slumping further. "Well far be it from me to put my foot in my mouth..."

If he was inviting sympathy from her, he'd failed. She ignored him, staring across the yard to where Frank and Sommerfield were deep in conversation, Frank occasionally casting a look in their direction. King shifted again, his chains clanking against the paintwork, and Dex was not going to be happy about that. When she glanced across at him, a frown on her face, he'd turned his attention from Sommerfield to her.

"Relax," she said to him, keeping it brief and to the point as she turned back to watch Frank and Sommerfield's conversation. "We're not planning to use you in any experiments you didn't sign up for. We don't need to. We've got centuries of lore on you fuckers."

She caught King moving out of the corner of her eye, and when she glanced back at him, he was nodding his head slowly, his eyes firmly fixed on her. "I appreciate the honesty," he said. For once he didn't sound like he was mocking her, but her frown still deepened. She was irritated more by the fact that he confused her than by his moods being all over the place, but any further comments she might have made were stopped in their tracks when Frank stepped back from Sommerfield, making a peremptory 'come on' gesture in their direction.

"You're up," she said to King, pushing herself away from the truck. "Try not to fuck it up."

She didn't wait to see if he followed her.

-o-

Sommerfield's makeshift lab was always too cold, probably because of the samples she and Velasquez dealt with day in and day out, but that didn't seem to bother King, even though he was wearing nothing but a pair of grubby cargo pants. Maybe that was a vampire thing, or maybe he was just past the point of caring; Abby certainly was. She leaned against the wall, folding her arms so that she mirrored Dex - who'd taken the same stance on the far side of the room - and watched as King took a seat on the examining table Sommerfield waved him towards. His face had settled into a blank mask, only the tight clenching of his fingers on the edge of the table giving his tension away. His eyes scanned the room, taking everything in. Everything but Abby, and she was glad of that. She pulled up her own blank mask in response, but she had a feeling that it was cracking around the edges and even if it wasn't, King's weird golden eyes were alien enough to make her feel like he could see straight through her.

Whatever the outcome of her discussions with Frank, Sommerfield wasn't in the sharing mood. She ignored all of them, moving around her equipment confidently, her fingers steady and sure as they skimmed over the surface of her keyboard and across the neatly labelled vials, picking up the Braille used on both. Abby watched her for a moment, letting Sommerfield's competency sink into her and soothe away things that had been on edge for too many hours.

When she looked back, she met Dex's eyes rather than King's. Dex raised his eyebrow at her, jerking his head towards King and dragging her attention back to him, whether she wanted that or not.

The tension had reached King's shoulders now, and the longer that Sommerfield ignored him, the tenser he was becoming. Abby frowned; she really wasn't in the mood to deal with his shit.

Sommerfield was conferring with Velasquez, heads bent together and with Velasquez throwing the occasional cold and suspicious look in King's direction. King ignored them. He had that thousand yard stare look back in his eyes, unfocused and not seeming to pay any of them any attention, although she knew he'd was aware of everything going on in the room on some level at least.

"Do you know when he last ate?" It took Abby a second to realise that Sommerfield was talking to her, especially as Sommerfield wasn't quite looking in her direction. How the hell should she know? She wasn't King's keeper.

"Still in the room," said King mildly. Sommerfield ignored him, still not quite staring at Abby.

Abby racked her brain for something that could pass as an answer. "He said he'd been down there for more than three weeks." She didn't look to King for confirmation, but he nodded anyway; she caught the movement out of the corner of her eye.

"'Bout that. I lose track, sometimes."

He sounded tired, drawn, but Sommerfield didn't show any sympathy for him, simply nodding briskly, her face still turned in Abby's general direction. "He'll need to feed," she said, and King's head rose, the blank look in his eye fading to be replaced with something more wary. And hungry.

"That a good idea?" Dex asked, rising up slightly from his nonchalant slouch against the far wall. Sommerfield turned her head in his direction.

"Well, there are two courses of action. First is that we don't feed him and the virus is weakened, which might give the antivirus a better chance of succeeding. Downside to that one is that he's weakened, too, and he might not make it through it." She shrugged, the gesture weirdly dismissive given that she still hadn't acknowledged King's existence directly. "Selena says he's already wounded?" Hearing her name, Velasquez looked up from the vials she was neatly lining up on one tidy counter.

It took Abby a second to figure out what Sommerfield was asking, and she nodded before remembering that Sommerfield couldn't see her and finding her voice again. "Yes," she said, and it came out hoarse and tired. She cleared her throat and tried again. "Silver."

Velasquez butted in, her brown eyes bright and fierce. "Wounds aren't healing as fast as they should." She didn't sound sorry about it.

That was something Abby had missed - she knew vampires healed, but not how fast - but of course Velasquez would catch it; she'd been an EMT before one of her patients had a vamped out in the back of her unit and killed her partner in front of her. No going back from that, not when no one would believe that it wasn't just a junkie jumped up on PCP.

"Could be the silver," Sommerfield mused. "Or could be the fact that the virus is starving, which, like I said, means it's not as strong as it could be, but then neither is he."

"I have a name," King interjected, his tone still deceptively mild.

"Yes," snapped Abby, her focus all on Sommerfield. "And it's a stupid one." King subsided, the look on his face bordering on sulky. Dex, on the other hand, chuckled softly, his eyes full of mirth when they met Abby's. "What's the second option?" she asked Sommerfield, trying to keep the conversation on track in spite of King's efforts to derail it.

"We feed him, but we also feed the virus."

"You think the second option's better than the first?" Abby didn't know why she was bothering to ask - it wasn't like she had more than a basic understanding of first aid anyway, and it wasn't like she cared.

"Do I get a say in this?" King asked, and his constant butting in - those sharp little reminders that he was there when if she'd been in his position, she'd have stayed as quiet and unobtrusive as possible - were starting to piss her off.

"Sure," she snapped back. "Which do you want to go for?"

Sommerfield raised one eyebrow at her tone and Velasquez hid a smirk, but King simply stared at her for a moment, his eyes wide and shocked. And then he swallowed, his expression cracking for a second, a flash of something through his eyes that she recognised; that recognition curdled in her stomach, leaving something close to shame behind.

He was scared. No, he was terrified and trying very hard not to show it, shooting off his mouth and cracking stupid jokes because he had nothing else to hide behind. She'd known vamps felt fear, of course - she'd been the cause of it more than once - but there was something ugly about King's, something fractured and vulnerable as he sat there, clad in nothing but a pair of pants, silver cuffs and false bravado.

He swallowed again, not meeting Abby's eyes for long moments. "Feed," he said eventually, and Dex snorted, the sound making King's shoulders twitch. But King finally looked straight at Abby - at Abby, not at Sommerfield, who couldn't meet his eyes anyway, or Velasquez, who was watching him closely with a mask-like expression of her own. "You've only got one lab rat, right? If she's right," and he gestured at Sommerfield, "and a weak virus means a weak me, you don't want your lab rat dying the first time out." He swallowed again, his fingers dropping to grip the side of the examining table again; Abby didn't think he'd noticed he'd done it.

King nodded to himself, the expression on his face struggling as he thought it through. "But if you feed me and it doesn't work, because the virus is too strong or what the fuck ever, at least you still have the option of chaining me up in the dark and starving me for a month again rather than simply being left with an admittedly good looking corpse." His tongue darted out to wet his lips, an all too human sign of nervousness. "Of course, I'd appreciate it if this time you missed out on the silver chains."

Abby had been right - he was smart, very smart. There wasn't much comfort in the realisation.

Sommerfield was nodding slowly, her head finally turned in King's direction as she listened to him. "Those were my thoughts, too," she said, and she sounded intrigued. "There's a risk that if we expose the virus to the antivirus more than once and it doesn't kill it, it will end up developing resistance, but I don't think that's much of a risk first time out, so feeding it is." She turned her head in Velasquez's direction, but the other woman was already moving towards the fridge where they kept their stock of fresh blood, although they usually used it for a different purpose than entertaining vampires. Dealing with the aftermath of entertaining them, maybe.

King watched Velasquez hungrily, trying very hard not to look like he was doing so and failing. His eyes were such a pale gold now they almost looked like they were glowing in the fluorescents overhead. He licked at his lips again, and Abby got the feeling that the move wasn't about nervousness, not this time.

Maybe Dex had seen it too, or maybe it was simply his natural cautiousness, but he straightened up when Velasquez moved within reaching distance of King, holding out the chilled bag of O positive she'd dug out of the cooler, her nose crinkled into an expression of distaste.

King didn't snatch at it, although the muscles around his mouth twitched and his fingers curled like it was a close thing. Instead, he reached out slowly and, once his fingers had wrapped around the bag, he pulled it towards him just as slowly, cradling it to his chest for a moment. Faint tremors were running through his body, and he swallowed again, the sound loud in the sudden silence.

"So, you all just going to stand there and watch me?" he asked, his voice cracking around the edges. "What is this? Feeding time at the zoo?"

"Would you like us to fetch you a cup?" Frank asked from the doorway, his tone dry. The words startled Abby. She'd been so focused on King, she hadn't even realised Frank was there; her inattention hadn't been missed, not if the look in Frank's eyes when they briefly passed over her was any indication.

"Would you, please?" King asked, switching his gaze from the blood bag to Frank. Sweat was beading on his upper lip again, and the tremors running through him were stronger as he fought against the hunger out of simple, pigheaded pride. He'd probably aimed for sarcastic, but if so he'd missed it by a mile. It didn't stop Frank from staring at him down, open challenge in his eyes; unsurprisingly, it was King who looked away first.

Abby's heart didn't quite go out to him, but she'd never been one to pull the wings off flies, not even the stinging, biting kind. That didn't mean she was stupid - she wasn't under any illusions about how Frank saw her. Unlike the rest of their crew she hadn't lost anyone directly to the vamps. The way Frank saw it she had no axe to grind in this fight, no real commitment. And the way Abby saw it she wasn't any braver than King, not when it came to Frank Reilly. The idea that at some point Frank would consider her more trouble than she was worth wasn't one she wanted to entertain.

Velasquez, on the other hand, didn't give a shit, not even about Frank's good opinion. She scooped up an empty mug from the bench - Hedges', judging by the size of it - and stalked towards King, five foot nothing of pure attitude. Dex was still watching alertly, his eyes sharp and dangerous, so different from the normal laidback persona he projected, but Velasquez wasn't stupid either. She kept a close and wary eye on King even as she held her hand out peremptorily, and she didn't stand any closer to him than she had to.

Velasquez's fingers, at least, weren't shaking; Abby couldn't say the same for King's, which were still trembling when he handed the bag over, reluctance in every line on his face. It took long moments for his fingers to slip away from the bag entirely, even after Velasquez had hold of it.

Velasquez waited him out calmly, nothing but a certain tenseness in the firm line of her mouth and her slow careful movements to give away her fear. She stepped back out of reach when she had hold of it, and King jerked, an instinctive move that he reined in before Dex could do more than take a step forward and Velasquez a step back.

His eyes were brighter than they had been, his lips curled back in an unconscious grimace, fangs exposed. Even as Abby watched, her hand slowly moving towards the weapon on her hip, he regained control of himself, his shoulders slumping as he avoided meeting anyone's eyes.

Velasquez waited until she was a long way out of reach before she turned her back on him, and her fingers were finally shaking as she opened the valve. But Velasquez was tough - a hell of a lot tougher than Abby. She simply compressed her mouth into an even tighter line and by the time she turned to face King again, her expression was back to giving nothing away.

King didn't look at anyone. He was back to blank, eyes unfocused and dull again, but he didn't seem to have stopped thinking, or manipulating; when Velasquez hesitated just out of his reach, he slipped his hands, slowly and deliberately, under his legs. There couldn't have been a clearer sign that he wasn't intending to start anything.

Frank shifted in the doorway. When Abby glanced across at him, the movement drawing her attention momentarily away from King, he was watching King thoughtfully. They didn't seem to pleasant thoughts judging by the deep grooves at the sides of his mouth.

King hadn't noticed; he was still sitting stock still, his hands trapped under his bodyweight and his eyes deliberately avoiding Velasquez, who came to a stop just in front of him. She didn't place the cup down next to him. Instead, she held it out to him, just as deliberately, and the hand holding it was rock steady, even if she'd curled the other one into a loose fist that hung by her side.

"Take it," she said, and her voice was as steady as her hand.

King twitched again, still avoiding Velasquez's eyes, the struggle clear on his face. But he seemed unable to resist her - or the siren call of the blood she held - and he worked one hand free, reaching for the cup she held outstretched.

He didn't snatch it this time, either; his fingers closed slowly around it and he waited until Velasquez's grip loosened before he pulled it towards himself.

Velasquez let go and stepped back, watching him with a mingled look of fascination and revulsion on her face. Abby was pretty sure that her expression matched Velasquez's and King didn't miss either of their reactions. When he finally brought the cup to his lips his fingers were gripping it so tightly that his knuckles were white. It still shook, a droplet of blood escaping to run down the side, and he had to bring his other hand up to steady it, cradling the cup in both hands like a kid as he gulped down the contents, shudders running through his body.

He finally pulled the cup away and wiped at his red-stained mouth with the back of one shaky hand, smearing blood across his cheek. His shoulders hunched up further in the face of their continued silence. It made him seem small when he was anything but - he had a couple of inches on Frank and Frank was an imposing son of a bitch. Making Frank seem short was an achievement.

Abby stayed silent, unable to think of anything to say. Frank had no such compunction.

"Make sure he's strapped down," he told Velasquez, his tone brooking no argument. "Keep the silver on. I want two guards in here at all times, in addition to anyone treating him. If he so much as breathes on you or looks at you funny, shoot him." He waited for Velasquez to acknowledge his orders, a brief nod from the other woman all he needed, and then he looked straight at Abby, jerking his head towards the door in an unmistakeable 'come on' gesture that she'd have been stupid to overlook. And since she wasn't stupid, she followed him, even if she cast one last look back over her shoulder at King as she exited the room.

When she caught up with him, Frank had already caught Mick's attention with another peremptory head jerk, sending him into the room to take Abby's place. It seemed he was deadly serious about two guards at all times.

"Thoughts?" Frank asked as soon as they were out of earshot, and she blinked at him, not quite sure if it was a genuine question or a 'what the hell are you thinking?' Frank tended to the formal, kick ass and gravitas in equal measure; all she could do was take his question at face value. He'd soon let her know if she was wrong.

She gave the question as much consideration as she could, knowing that giving the wrong answer - an ill-considered and ill-articulated one - would piss him off a lot more quickly and a lot more thoroughly than taking her time.

"I don't know if he's genuine," she started slowly, and he snorted. She swallowed nervously, refusing to let him put her off her game. If she could sit in the dark and shoot the shit with a vamp, she'd better be able to cope with Frank Reilly's gimlet eyes and fierce line in straight talk. "I'm not sure it matters at this point. He may not even make it through Sommer's cure."

"But?" he prompted, either because he knew she had more or because he expected her to have more, both of which indicated a margin of respect for her.

"But..." She trailed off for a moment, marshalling her thoughts. "But if he is genuine, he was turned about five years ago, unwillingly." Frank treated her to a slightly impatient look, but she wasn't about to be rushed, not when this could be important.

Although she shouldn't be thinking of King as important.

"He said he picked this Danica up in a bar. So if he went out, then never got home again -"

"Danica? Danica Talos?" Frank interrupted, the intensity in his voice taking her by surprise.

"He said Danica, that's all. I don't know..." Her voice trailed off as she searched Frank's face for some sign of what he wanted from her. "Is it important?"

Frank didn't answer her for a long moment, his face expressionless as he stared off into the distance, the look in his eyes so reminiscent of King's thousand yard stare that it was eerie. And then he came back to himself, rubbing his hand over the greying stubble that was already sprouting on his chin; it was getting late and she doubted that Frank was the only one who looked tired.

"The place we hit wasn't supposed to be a Talos operation," he said heavily. "And Danica Talos is serious fucking bad news. If she's moving into the territory of other clans, that's even worse news."

That was much more information than Frank normally shared with her, and she hesitated, not sure how to take it, whether as a sign of his increased trust in her or simply that Danica's name had taken him by surprise.

He caught her watching him, and his expression settled back into its normal impassive mask, shutting everything down so as not to spook her. She knew why he was doing it, but that didn't make it any less irritating. "Were you thinking missing person report?" he asked, now seemingly simply interested, and subtly steering the conversation back on track. The switch in tone confused her, especially as there might have been something close to approval lurking in his cool blue eyes.

She gathered her thoughts again, focusing before Frank could call her on it. "Maybe it even hit the news. His name isn't exactly common."

Frank nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving her face. "Why would you think it hit the news? People go missing all of the time." His tone was challenging but not aggressive, but then Frank liked to keep them on their toes.

"He's white, well-educated, from the kind of background where children get named Hannibal and Hephaestion," she said, not even having to think about that part. "I'm thinking that they're the kind of people who get noticed. Probably not poor. Probably not homeless. The kind of people who may have the connections to make a noise when they lose a child."

She stopped abruptly - it was the first time she'd thought of King in those terms. Someone's brother. Someone's child. That he'd had a family, yes, but that his family had also had him...

It wasn't a comfortable thought. King was becoming more and more human to her, more and more **real** , with each passing moment, and she really didn't want to think about something with fangs in those terms.

Frank was still giving her a piercing look, weighing her up as much as he was weighing up her answers. She gave him her full attention, drawing herself up to her full height and putting the steel in her spine again, meeting his eyes as coolly and calmly as she could. After a moment he nodded, although again she couldn't quite tell if it was in agreement with her or because he'd seen her, really seen her, and for once was satisfied with what he'd seen.

"Talk to Hedges," he said. "He's supposedly all about the research, so let's see if our newbie can earn his keep given he's going to be close to useless in the field."

He stepped away from her, making it very clear from the way he looked at her that he expected her to speak to their newest recruit right about now. She nodded, waiting until he turned away before she let herself lick her dry lips and go in search of Hedges.

She couldn't resist casting one last look into the interior of Sommerfield's lab before she went.

-o-

Hedges had jumped at the chance of something to do, babbling excitedly at her about microfiche and the new field of online newspaper archives until it finally dawned on him that she wasn't paying attention. And then he'd subsided, telling her that he'd have something for her in a couple of days at absolute most.

She nodded in all the right places, hopefully made the right noises and tried not to make her longing for her bed too obvious. She'd swallowed some Tylenol dry, but her head still ached and her eyes were gritty, and Hedges' constant stream of words wasn't helping.

She detoured back to Sommerfield's lab on her way to the shower. Dex and Mick were watching their guest, their body language watchful but not tense; when she stole a brief glance at King, he was flat on his back on the examining table. There were straps around his wrists, just above the gleaming shine of his cuffs, but whoever had tied him down had taken some pity on him at least. They'd left his legs free, and he had one foot flat on the black plastic covering of the couch, his knee cocked as he stared up at the ceiling.

He ignored her and she returned the favour, heading off for her shower in the hopes that it would wash at least some of today's grime away.

It helped a little, but only a little. When it came down to it, the only thing that would help was sleep, and she collapsed gratefully onto her bunk, not even bothering to dry her hair before Morpheus dragged her under.

If she dreamed, she didn't remember.


	3. Chapter 3

She slept for around four hours before the alarm on her wristwatch woke her, the strident sound blaring just beneath her ear yanking her, startled and half-panicked, from whatever dark place she'd been.

It was too hot in her room; she kicked the covers off impatiently, her eyes gritty with exhaustion. There was no point in dwelling on it - she needed to check in with her team, make sure that nothing had gone awry since she'd passed out.

Make sure King was still alive for a start.

She dragged her clothes on, combing her fingers impatiently through her hair while avoiding the lump on her scalp that was still tender. Falling into bed with her hair still wet meant that it had dried bushy and unmanageable. She didn't give much of a shit about how she looked normally - she was more of a practical leathers and jeans kind of a girl - but the last thing she wanted to do was walk into Sommerfield's lab looking like she'd simply rolled out of bed, heavy-lidded and debauched. King was bound to make a comment on it and even if he didn't, chances were he'd still see it as some sign of weakness, something to exploit. She had no intention of showing him any chinks in her armour.

She made sure to stop by the kitchen en route, stealing Hedges' cup of freshly brewed coffee on the way. He'd soon learn he needed to move faster around them if he wanted to drink what he made, especially given that they all had cast iron stomachs and asbestos mouths.

The sun had been up for hours, but there was no sign of Frank when she reached Sommerfield's lab, coffee cup still clutched in one hand, although it was mostly empty now. Dex was slouched in the doorway, looking as tired as she felt. She nodded to him before handing him what was left of Hedges' coffee, and he shot her a grateful look, drinking the rest of it down.

"Everything okay?" she asked him quietly, and he shrugged, stifling a yawn.

"Quiet," he murmured back, bringing his hand up to his mouth to hide another yawn. "Hedges make a whole pot?"

Trust Dex to recognise Hedges' hand in the coffee he'd drunk, but then Abby would have made it stronger.

"I think so," she said absently, watching the even rise and fall of King's chest. She couldn't tell if the vampire was asleep or simply faking it, but she wasn't going to step any closer and find out. Not until the caffeine had had a chance to kick in. "He give you any trouble?"

"Wouldn't stop talking," Mick grumbled from across the room. "I notice you didn't bring **me** any coffee." Abby ignored his complaint, but Dex smirked.

"I think he likes Mick," he said, grinning at Abby when she raised an eyebrow at him. "Kept asking him about England." Mick grimaced and flipped the pair of them off. "Although, to be fair, Mick asked a few pointed questions of his own about Canada."

Mick snorted. "I only asked the once if they fucked moose."

Dex's smirk deepened. "They don't. Beavers on the other hand..."

King stirred and Dex stopped talking immediately, his expression growing sharp as he watched their guest, eagle-eyed, until King had settled back down again.

"He don't look so good," Mick observed, and it startled Abby into actually looking at King instead of simply checking that he was still there and still breathing.

Mick was right - King's face was pale, his brows drawn down into a slight frown. His eyes were closed, either sleeping or dozing. Whichever it was, he wasn't paying them any attention, and didn't seem to have heard Mick's comment.

"I suppose that's to be expected," Abby offered cautiously, and Mick grunted, holding tightly onto whatever grudge he thought he had towards her.

"Well, what the fuck ever," he said. "He's your problem now. I'm hitting the sack. Don't wake me for anything less than an emergency. And I don't count him being a twat as an emergency," he added, nodding towards King as he headed out the door.

Dex chuckled, folding his arms again and leaning back against the wall.

"You want to get some shut-eye?" Abby asked him, keeping her voice low to avoid waking King up, more because she wanted to avoid dealing with him than because she thought he needed his rest.

"Sure," said Dex affably. "You planning on having Frank rip off my balls for leaving you alone with him?"

She wasn't about to let that go without comment. "I think I can cope," she said dryly. "I spent several hours on my own with him yesterday without killing him or myself."

"Still," said Dex, drawing the word out in a way that made it clear he wasn't comfortable with the idea. Abby got where he was coming from - even with King chained up and apparently asleep, Frank's instructions had been clear and he'd had good reason for them. "I'm kind of attached to my balls, you know? I'd like them to remain attached."

She grinned at him, all teeth. Maybe she'd even have come up with a smart rejoinder for him if she hadn't spotted Frank heading towards them. She dug Dex in the ribs with her elbow, gesturing with her head towards Frank.

Frank didn't look any more rested, his face fixed in a slight frown, although with Frank that wasn't unusual.

Dex quirked his mouth up, a brief moment of camaraderie, and then he pushed himself up away from the doorjamb and ambled off after Mick, giving Frank a brief nod of acknowledgement as they passed each other.

Frank, Abby noticed, had liberated his own cup of coffee. He took a sip from it as he gave King the once over, his frown settling more firmly on his face.

"He's asleep," Abby said quietly. She didn't know why she'd felt the need to state the obvious, or to keep her voice low, and when Frank turned his head to look at her, she could feel the blood start to rise to her face. She held his gaze steadily though, not looking away until he did.

Frank still hadn't shaved, and that wasn't like Frank. He must be more worried than she'd thought if he'd headed straight down here before he'd completed his morning rituals.

He stared at King for long moments, the steam from his coffee rising up between them. It was the only sign of movement until he sighed, wiping his other hand tiredly over his face.

"You seen Sommerfield?" he asked, his voice gravelly.

"No," she said. "Haven't seen Velasquez either. Just Mick and Dex when I got here."

Frank frowned again, but it was tired rather than pissed. "Mick?" he queried, and too late Abby realised how it sounded.

"I relieved him," she said steadily. "Just like you relieved Dex."

Frank snorted, sparing her a brief look that was full of a kind of dark amusement. "I'll be sure to let Mick know you had his back," he said, and she looked away, fighting the flush that was all too ready to rise to her face again.

"Sommer's probably getting Zoë's breakfast," she said, more to have something to say than anything else. "Not sure about Velasquez."

Frank nodded, his eyes still firmly fixed on King. Whatever was going on in his mind as he watched the vampire, he didn't seem to be willing to share it with Abby. Eventually he seemed to come to some decision, letting out his breath in a slow sigh.

"You going to be okay with him for a few minutes?"

Abby blinked at him. "On my own?" she asked and then, just in case Frank thought it was concern in her voice, or fear, she added hastily, "I thought you wanted us in pairs?"

Frank turned his head, giving her a searching look, and she did her very best not to let anything he wasn't going to like show on her face. Or even think it - sometimes the man seemed like a fucking mind reader.

"The others in pairs," he said quietly. "You, on the other hand, are considerably less likely to do something stupid." He paused for a moment, giving her another searching look, a much less comfortable one this time around. "You planning on doing anything stupid, Whistler?"

She shook her head, staying mute.

"Good," he said slowly, draining his cup before he put it down on a nearby counter. "I'll go roust Sommerfield from wherever she's hiding." He hesitated, looking at Abby for a long moment, the expression on his face one she couldn't read, and then he nodded again, more to himself than Abby, and headed out the door.

She took a deep breath, slumping against the counter. It dug into her hip, but she didn't move; the slight pain grounded her as she stood there, staring at King and watching him breathe.

Mick had been dead on the money. King's face wasn't just pale. There were small beads of sweat forming on his forehead and his upper lip and, as she watched, his face creased up, pained even in his sleep; it was instinct to glance at one of his wrists, make sure the silver hadn't burned too deeply.

When she looked back, King's eyes were open and he was watching her.

She jumped, banging her hip against the counter as she stumbled and sending a scowl in his direction as the small, sharp pain hit. It didn't work; he simply blinked at her blearily, his eyes muddy and unfocused in the room's dim light. And then he coughed, the sound harsh and wet as it ripped from his throat, making her wince in unwilling sympathy.

She took a step towards him just as he started to struggle against the straps around his wrists. Fucking typical; she was about to take another step closer, already opening her mouth to tell him to quit it, when he coughed again, a harsh, hacking sound that set her teeth on edge.

Blood erupted from his mouth.

She froze, her mind blanking as she watched the blood trickle, dark red and viscous, down his chin. He coughed again, still spluttering, red bubbles forming at the corners of his mouth as he strained to roll over, turn his head, anything. The sound took on a more urgent quality, fierce and frantic, as King fought against the straps that tied him down.

He was choking.

The thought snapped her into action, finally quick and decisive as she swore and darted around the examining table, banging her hip again as she careened into it. It was instinct to aim for the arm he'd been trying to free - it was quicker to work with him rather than against him - but whoever had strapped him down had fastened the buckles **tight**. She was still struggling when Frank surged through the door with a face like thunder.

"What the fuck? Whistler, have you lost your **fucking mind**?"

She ignored him, all of her attention focused on King. She wasn't even sure it was possible for him to choke to death, but what she did know was that there was no way in hell King was faking this one and with Frank in the doorway, there was no way he was getting out even if he was.

The strap finally came loose and King rolled onto his side, still making those god-awful choking, rasping sounds as he struggled for breath. Frank took two steps forward, fire in his eyes and his gaze fixed on Abby.

It was the wrong move - two steps forward brought him in reach of the table King was on, and King finally stopped choking, vomiting up hours old blood all over the floor and splattering Frank's shoes.

Frank jumped back out of the way, his hands raised, and then his eyes found Abby again.

"He was choking," she said, her tone short as she moved around the table, keeping a way eye on King as she went. He was panting for breath, fingers curled into a fist near his stomach. The blood had coated his chin, turning his face into a macabre mask, his skin pale and sweaty above the rust coloured streaks and his eyes tightly closed.

"He's a vampire," Frank said. "He can't choke." His voice was tight with a kind of controlled fury, ice-cold and terrifying. It was far enough out of character for Frank that it might have worked on her under other circumstances, but right then there was something suspiciously like pity curling in her chest for someone who shouldn't deserve it.

"What's going on?" Sommerfield's voice was sharp as she came to a halt in the doorway. "Anyone care to explain, seeing as he's my patient?"

Frank glanced over at Sommerfield, his face twisting into a frustrated expression, although his frustration wasn't aimed at Sommerfield. "Your 'patient' has just thrown up over my goddamned shoes and Whistler seems to have developed a death wish."

Sommerfield frowned, her nose crinkling, although whether that was due to Frank's explanation or the scent of stale blood finally hitting her nostrils, Abby couldn't tell. The smell was certainly doing unpleasant things to her stomach.

"Strap him down again." Abby snapped back to herself, meeting Frank's eyes, which were hard and uncompromising. His voice was silkily dangerous as he repeated, "Strap him back down again, Whistler."

"Somebody want to fill me in?" Sommerfield's tone was even sharper now, filled with undercurrents of fear and tension. "He's free?"

King had curled up, his face ghastly white and his eyes squeezed tightly shut. He wasn't making any attempt to further free himself - the more dealings that Abby had with him, the more sure she was that she'd been right about him not being stupid. He was giving absolutely no sign that he was a threat. Deliberately so.

She turned back to Sommerfield, avoiding looking at Frank. She didn't need to, not when she was hyperaware of him, all of the hairs on the back of her neck tingling. "One hand," she explained, trying to soothe the other woman's fear, something Frank didn't seem inclined to do right then. "Just one hand, Sommer." She met Frank's eyes briefly, and some of her defiance must have shown on her face or come through in her body language because Frank straightened up, his expression growing ominous. She'd seen that look in the field often enough to recognise it, although it was usually aimed at the vampires rather than his own team. "He was choking on his own vomit."

"Vampires can't choke," Frank repeated, and his eyes never left Abby's face, cold and angry in a way that sent a shiver through her. She'd faced down vamps more than once, but there was something more terrifying about Frank's all too human rage, not least because while Frank could be cold, he was normally calm.

"Cite your source," Sommerfield snapped, moving closer, and Frank blinked, the spell he had over Abby wavering as he shot a look in Sommerfield's direction. "Ever try it, Frank?"

"Danica did." King's voice was quiet, blurred and indistinct. "'s not fun." His eyes were finally open, but they weren't focusing on anyone. Instead he simply stared into space and the look in his eyes was a familiar one. She'd seen it more than once in the faces of those that came through the door after their lives had been ripped apart by something from twisted fairytales: the lost, the dispossessed. The broken.

She shivered.

Frank was still glaring at her, but it lacked his earlier heat and he wasn't making any move to strap King back down - although that could have been because he needed to make her do it or because he didn't want to touch King any more than necessary. She hadn't a clue which and she was rapidly passing the point of caring. There was only so much fear her body could cope with, so much adrenaline it could pump out to keep her going, and the events of the day before had exhausted her reserves. She took two steps towards the door, and Frank's hand jerked up to catch her before he caught himself instead and let it drop by his side.

"Hedges," she yelled through the open doorway. "Get your ass in here."

And then she turned back to meet Frank's eyes again - the look in them might have been disappointed, but right then it was better than meeting the empty look in King's.

"What?" Hedges hove into view, coming to a skidding stop in the doorway, his eyes wide and his expression half-panicked. "Jesus!" he said, taking in the sight of the blood splattering the floor and masking King's face. He swallowed, his face paling.

"We need chains. Hedges." She snapped his name out when he didn't respond, his eyes still fixed on the pool of blood by the examining table. "Chains."

He swallowed again, dragging his eyes away and meeting Abby's. "Okay. Okay. What...? How long and...?"

She held back the sigh that wanted out; he was new and he was nervous and God knew the rest of them weren't dealing with this whole situation much better than he was.

"Long enough so he can lie on his side. Strong enough so he can't break it. Secure enough that he can't unfasten it. Got it?" Hedges nodded, his eyes fixed on her face like keeping his attention on her was the only way he was going to get through it. "Go."

He went, stumbling over his own feet in his haste.

She'd half expected King to come back with some snappy comment, something about him not being Houdini, but he stayed silent. When she turned to look at him again, his eyes were closed and he was breathing through his mouth, each breath so small and shallow that for a second, until she caught the sound of the next one, she half-thought he was dead.

"That's your plan?" Frank asked calmly, and oddly the calmness of it sent her hackles rising again, putting her on the defensive.

"You got a better one?"

She knew the words were a mistake as soon as they were out of her mouth, and winced, not missing the way that Frank's head raised like a vampire scenting blood. She took a deep breath - through her mouth so that she couldn't smell the blood, but the thick miasma of it still coated her tongue, metallic and sharp, leaving her feeling nauseous.

Maybe she could blame yesterday's blow to the head for her current lack of a survival instinct - in dealing with King and Frank, both.

"We don't know if he can choke to death," she said, aiming for a tone that was slightly more appeasing and slightly less fuck you. She wasn't sure she hit it, judging by the way that Frank's eyebrows were making a break for his hairline, but she persevered. It wasn't Frank she was irritated with, not really. "But I don't want to go out and find another vampire, and I'm pretty sure Sommerfield would prefer it if her experiment didn't die half way through. Not if we can help it."

Frank treated her to a long, steady look, one that was no less dangerous than any of the others that had preceded it, but that at least didn't hold any threat of immediate consequences. He had a long memory, though. She'd never pegged him as a vindictive man - harsh, yes, but not the kind to be petty and cruel - but he didn't take any shit from his team, and she'd pretty much been giving him nothing but shit the last couple of days.

After this was over, she might need to find another cell to work with, and wouldn't her father be pleased about that level of fuck-up?

"Jesus!" Velasquez stopped dead in the doorway, taking in the scene in front of her much as Hedges had, but unlike Hedges she didn't freeze. Instead, her mouth firmed up and her eyes narrowed, and if she hesitated, it was only briefly before she moved into the room. "What do you need?"

Velasquez aimed her question at Abby and Frank didn't miss that. His expression tightened, but that was the extent of his visible reaction. He certainly didn't step up to the plate; instead he took a step back, folding his arms and watching Abby over the top of them.

He wasn't glaring at her now; his face was impassive, unreadable, only the cool light in his eyes giving away the fact that he wasn't as unmoved or immovable as he seemed.

Abby took a deep breath, her mind moving quickly, sorting through her options. Velasquez was older, more experienced - giving her orders, or even instructions, didn't sit right with Abby.

"Maybe we could clean up?" she suggested tentatively and Frank huffed out a sharp, impatient breath.

"You're the one who set this in motion, Whistler," he barked, and his bark was worse than his bite. "Don't ask - damn well tell."

"That include you?" she shot back before she could think better of it, and Frank's brows lowered, his expression heading towards bleakly amused.

"You think you can get me to do what you want me to do, girl, you go for it."

She bristled at the 'girl', but she reined her irritation in, letting it spike briefly and then letting it go. Frank had thirty-odd years on her - losing her temper now would be a damned good way of demonstrating that she really was too young for this.

Instead of giving him the reaction he was watching and waiting for, she simply nodded. "If I can think of a use for you, I'll be sure to let you know," she said coolly, and this time the bark of laughter he let out was genuine.

"I'm sure you will, Whistler," he said, and there was a reluctant kind of respect in his voice. "But since you seem to have it all under control, I'm going to leave you to it." He lifted his chin, staring her down, and she looked away, a brief moment of weakness, just like he expected.

It only took her a moment to look back, and there was a dry little smile playing around the corners of his mouth. But for once Frank seemed willing to let it go. He stepped closer to King, leaning down until his face was barely inches from King. "If you fuck this up," he said, voice low and full of menace, turning it on easily now that he was speaking to a vampire instead of Abby, "I'm going to fuck you up."

King blinked at him blearily. "You might wanna step back," he slurred, the words slipping and sliding into each other. "No, seriously. Step the fuck back." He grimaced, his hand dropping and his fingers curling against his stomach. " **Now**!"

Frank straightened up, his face settling into lines of stone cold fury, but King jerked, his body convulsing as it expelled what was left of his meal.

This time he didn't miss Frank's shoes.

"Shit," King groaned, curling up on himself, blood dripping from his chin. "I **really** don't feel so good..."

Frank stepped back, the muscle in his jaw twitching. But - as always - he was in control of himself. "He so much as moves," he said, and the words were bitten out, one by one, not snarled and not shouted. "You shoot him." He leaned in towards King again, waiting until the vampire locked eyes with him. "You get that?"

"I got it."

King's voice was thready and weak, but it didn't stop him from flipping Frank off defiantly as soon as Frank turned his back on him and headed towards the door. Abby raised one eyebrow at him, and King lowered his finger sullenly.

"In my defence," he said, "I did warn him. Is it my fault he didn't listen?" She continued to stare him down, but he didn't seem to care, rapidly losing interest in her as he curled up into an even smaller ball, shivering. "I really don't feel so good," he murmured softly, and Abby rubbed tiredly at her face.

"Well," said Velasquez flatly. "I'll clean the floor - won't be the first time I've cleaned up some asshole's puke - but I'm not going anywhere near those fucking fangs of his, got it?"

She got it, and Velasquez was right. There was no point in taking stupid risks.

Hedges reappeared in the doorway, clutching a length of chain like his life depended on it. "I... um..." He held it out, like Abby was supposed to do something with it.

"Have we got something to weld it to his cuffs with?" He nodded, eyeing her like a rabbit in headlights. "Well?"

He blinked. "Oh. Right," he stuttered and she squeezed her eyes shut, holding onto her precarious temper with an effort. When she opened them again, Hedges was on his way out of the door, his hands flapping nervously by his side.

King was shivering more violently now, the tremors running through his body. She sighed again.

"Hey, Hedges," she bellowed out of the door, hoping like hell he heard it, "Fetch a blanket, too."

-o-

Abby suspected that Frank spent the next few days avoiding her, although he gave a damned good impression of simply being busy. He wasn't sharing busy with what, at least not with Abby, but then Frank had always kept his own counsel. But he took Dex and Mick on a couple of jobs, leaving Abby behind, and it hurt more than she expected.

There was no point in tackling Frank about it. He'd simply look her straight in the eye and ask her if she hadn't got something better to do than whining.

She barely saw Dex and Mick. Even when they were back at base, they were either sleeping or watching King. Mostly, in Mick's case, they were sleeping, which meant that the bulk of babysitting fell onto Abby and Velasquez. As jobs went, it wasn't a hard task, just a thankless one. King spent most of his time asleep and when he was awake he got a little less coherent with each passing hour as the fever raged through his body.

Abby grew used to him muttering in his sleep, and the way that his face creased and his fingers jerked as he dreamed. She studied him sometimes in the still of the night while Velasquez drew blood from him or made notes for Sommerfield on the computer. In the abstract - ignoring the pale skin, pale eyes and fangs - he was good looking - well-muscled but lean with it, with a symmetrical and attractive face - but that wasn't what fascinated her about him. It was what was going on inside his head that she was most curious about, that and the fact that so much of it seemed to show on his face.

Sometimes she lingered longer than she needed to, but if the others noticed, they didn't call her on it. Maybe they all felt the same combination of fascination and revulsion; it wasn't like they often got a chance to spend some quality time with vamps before they killed them.

When she reached the lab on the fourth evening after they'd captured him, her hair still damp from her shower and a cup of coffee - liberated from Hedges again - clutched in her hand, there was no sign of Sommerfield. Velasquez was alone, leaning against the counter, her face blank with tiredness.

Abby stopped in the doorway, eyeing the room warily.

"What's up?"

Velasquez jerked her head up, blinking at her. "Oh, hey. Nothing much." She stifled a yawn with the back of her hand. "Our house guest's pretty much slept all day. Hasn't been any trouble."

"You're on your own?"

Velasquez pulled a face. "Mick was supposed to be with me. But he fucking flaked on me a couple hours ago. Frank finds out, his ass will be grass." She gave Abby a sharp look. "I won't be mentioning it."

That was pretty typical of Mick as far as Abby was concerned. She put her cup down on the counter, not bothering to hide her irritation. "He's an idiot," she said.

Velasquez shrugged. "Get no argument from me 'bout that," she said genially. "And you know what Frank says. If you're stupid -"

"You're dead," Abby completed with a smile.

Velasquez grinned at her, before eyeing Abby's mostly full cup greedily. Abby sighed, pushing it over. "Thanks, hon." She took a deep gulp of coffee, appreciation for the bitter taste clear on her face, and then added, seemingly at random, "Mick's been out with Frank."

"Mick's been out with Frank on a couple of **cake walks**."

Velasquez watched her over the rim of her cup, her face carefully bland. "Not the way Mick tells it."

Abby bit back on her irritation - and her resentment at being kept out of the field while Mick got to play - with an effort, glancing across at King so that she didn't have to look at Velasquez until she'd regained control of her temper. He was curled up on his side again, his right hand still strapped down and his left tucked under his chin. He looked almost peaceful, although the chain dangling down off the side of the bed didn't fit with that impression.

"But Dex is still pulling his weight?" she asked.

"Dex is the driver," Velasquez answered mildly. "According to Mick, Dex sits on his ass, waiting for the real work to be done. And you don't have to tell me," she shot out before Abby could do more than draw down her eyebrows and open her mouth. "I know. Mick can be an ass, God love him. But it comes from a place of insecurity."

Abby simply stared at her.

"He has a tiny penis," Velasquez explained, but she couldn't keep a straight face and the final words dissolved into laughter.

Abby's mouth turned up in a reluctant grin. "You speaking from experience?"

"Hell, no. I'm far too much woman for him, and he's nowhere near woman enough for me."

Abby finally gave in and laughed, hiding the sound behind her hand and shooting a slightly guilty look at King, worried about waking him.

"Pretty sure that one will sleep until he's dead," Velasquez said, her tone shrewd as she watched Abby closely.

"How's he doing?"

Velasquez shrugged, the move turning into another yawn. "Viral load's down," she said.

"That's a good sign, right?"

"Sure. As long as it doesn't rally again." Velasquez hesitated, still eyeing Abby too closely for comfort. "He's not your responsibility, you know?"

She wished Velasquez hadn't taken her coffee. It would have given her something to hold, something to focus on other than Velasquez's piercing gaze.

"I don't think that," she said, and it sounded weak even to her.

"Sure you don't, honey." But Velasquez didn't seem to be interested in pursuing it now that she'd made her point. Instead, she simply drained the coffee cup and set it back down on the counter. "Need me to roust Mick out wherever the hell he's hiding for you and get him to do some actual work for a change?"

"You'd better, or Frank really will have his ass." Abby scowled for a second. "Or I will."

"Better you than me, Whistler." Velasquez smirked at Abby's disgusted face and flipped a wave at her as she headed out the door.

That left her alone with King.

She caught herself staring at him again, and dragged her attention away, flushing even though there was no one there to see it. Velasquez had left Sommerfield's computer on - it was humming quietly in the corner - and she wandered over to it, scrolling through the notes that Velasquez had left just to have something productive to do. It didn't help much; she only understood five words out of every ten and King was right there and far more interesting.

She gave up, propping her chin in her hand and watching him sleep, trying - once again - to figure out what was going through his mind. He was twitching in his sleep again, his face furrowed and his eyes moving rapidly beneath his eyelids, like he was caught in a nightmare he couldn't wake up from. But it wasn't just some weird kind of compassion that finally had her pushing her chair back and heading towards him; four days of inactivity had left her bored and restless, and at least if he was awake he might want to talk to her.

She'd only taken a couple of steps towards him when he jerked upright, his body twisting as the strap around his right wrist held him down. He was making these sounds, awful gulping, gasping sounds, like he couldn't catch his breath, couldn't do anything but panic. Each time he panted out, there was a moaning edge to the sound that went right through her, making her skin prickle as though something with claws was crawling up her spine. He flailed at the strap, trying to unfasten it with his free hand, the one with nothing but a cuff and chain to hold it down, and she bolted the last few steps, heart pounding and her mouth already dry with adrenaline.

By the time she'd reached him, he'd given up on that and was tearing at his free wrist with his teeth; this close, she could smell the skin of his lips burning and she shouldn't be able to, shouldn't have that scent hitting the back of her throat. It shouldn't be that strong, strong enough to have saliva flood her mouth, sickly sweet as though she was going to join him in hurling on the floor.

She grabbed his forearm, dragging it away from his mouth, half-panicked that he was going to tear his wrist open to feed on himself, and the rest panicked that he was going to turn on her, tear her fucking throat open. She didn't reach for her gun - she couldn't, not when she needed both hands to wrestle his arm down and not when it would be child's play for him to take it off her when they were this close. But she shouted, so hard and so fierce that her throat hurt with it; what she didn't know, but she needed someone, anyone's attention.

The burning smell hadn't been King's mouth, although his lips were swollen and blistered, blood smearing them. It had come from his wrist, where the silver had burnt through his flesh so deeply that she could see bone, whatever padding they'd used having slipped free as he'd tossed and turned in his sleep.

He was still fighting her, his body convulsing as he tried in vain to shake the cuff free, but it wasn't going to work, not with it so deeply embedded. "Hold still," she yelled, her fingers frantically scrabbling for a grip on the metal. "King, just hold still, okay?"

His struggles slowed as he stared up at her, his face white with shock and his eyes bright and fever glazed, but starting to turn back to brown now, not glowing gold. "Just hold still," she said more quietly, and her voice was shaking as she finally, finally managed to grab hold. And then she was pulling it free, the cuff sliding away from his flesh with the kind of wet, sucking sound she was going to be hearing in her dreams for days to come.

"Okay, okay, I got it. Just..."

Her hands were shaking too as she stared down into the wound, and the cuff was knocking against his flesh as she struggled to hold it so that it didn't touch any part of him. Soft puffs of smoke rose from his skin whenever her grip slipped, but he didn't fight her, not now.

"I got it," she repeated, holding onto the words like a mantra. "Just hold still."

"What the hell?"

It was Mick's voice, high pitched and stressed, but she didn't turn around, all of her focus on King. "I need bolt-cutters," she snapped. "And Velasquez."

"Velasquez's gone to get some sleep."

"So wake her up!"

The words came out shrill and panicked, and Mick's steps receded rapidly, whether to do as she asked or to go find Frank Reilly she didn't know and didn't care. Her world had narrowed down to one thing - King.

He was staring up at her like she was his fucking saviour or something, eyes focused on her and lips parted as he struggled to control the pain.

"Hurts," he gasped, and the sound was raw and liquid.

"I know. I know. Just... just hold on, okay?"

He blinked up at her and then licked his lips. His eyes were still too light and flecked with gold, but the look in them was all too human.

"Okay," he murmured and swallowed, struggling to regain control of himself. "How bad?"

She licked at her own lips, echoing his move and realising too late that it gave away the fact that she was about to lie her ass off. "I've seen worse," she said weakly. "And you'll heal."

"I hope so," he said, and his body was trembling where it pressed up against hers. "That's my jerking off hand." And then he swallowed, visibly banking down the panic. "I can't move my fingers. Which, you know. Sucks."

"It's... it's deep," she said. "Tendon damage, maybe. But you're not going to lose your hand, and even if you did, vampires grow limbs back, right? Like newts?"

"Sure." He swallowed again. "Less slimy, though."

"That's a matter of opinion."

That shook a laugh out of him, and when it cracked around the edges she pretended not to notice. Instead, she cradled his arm more closely to her body, supporting it as she yelled over her shoulder, "Mick! Where the hell are you?"

"Hold your bloody horses," Mick's voice echoed behind her. "I'm here, all right?"

He was, and for once he'd listened to her. He had a pair of bolt-cutters dangling from one hand, although he was making no attempt to move any closer.

"Okay," she said, positioning herself so that she was as out of the way as she could get and still keep the cuff from contacting King's skin any more than necessary. "You'll need to cut it in two places..."

"Are you fucking mental?" Mick spat the words out, fast and furious. "No way am I letting him go. How about I use them on his fucking neck instead?"

"How about I use them on your balls?" she hurled back. "Assuming you can find them."

He scowled at her, the expression ugly and feral on his face, but before he could reply, Velasquez hurtled through the doorway, her eyes heavy-lidded and her hair wild. Frank was hot on her heels.

"Jesus," said Velasquez as she took in the sight before her. She thinned her lips, moving around the other side of the bed so that she could get a good look at King's wound.

"Anyone care to tell me what the hell is going on?" Frank cut to the chase as usual.

"The cuffs need to come off," Velasquez said briskly. Abby shot her a grateful look, but Velasquez ignored her. "Now would be good, before it eats all the way through his wrist." Velasquez looked up, meeting Frank's eyes and, whatever wordless exchange took place, Frank huffed out a breath, reaching across to snatch the bolt-cutters from Mick.

Mick gave them up without a fight, although he did stare at Frank, open-mouthed, for a moment before his jaw slapped shut. He took a step back, folding his arms and glaring at all and sundry over the top of them, but given that he wasn't in a position to be an ass any more, Abby dismissed him from her thoughts and turned her attention back to King.

"Okay," said Frank. "You're going to have to give me some room to move, Whistler. Up or down - your choice."

She couldn't figure out what he meant, not at first. Not until she compared the depth of the bolt-cutter blades against the thickness of the cuffs. She caught her lip between her teeth, considering her options for a split second before she turned King's arm over, pressing the back of it down against the top of the table.

It pushed the cuff against his skin, trapping the silver between his flesh and the table, and he yelped out a high-pitched "Fuck me!" that had her wincing in sympathy. But it gave Frank room to manoeuvre, catching the top of the cuff between the blades and snapping it in two places so that Velasquez could pull them apart and away.

King was panting heavily as he pulled his wrist back, cradling it against his chest as he let out soft, pained gasps. Velasquez pulled on some surgical gloves but when she reached for his arm, he jerked away from her, his face white and drawn and the look in his eyes shell-shocked. Abby reached for him, running on instinct now, and he let her catch hold of his forearm and gently ease it down so that Velasquez could examine it.

"Anyone want to tell me what happened?" Frank asked as he shoved the bolt-cutters in Mick's direction again. Mick took them with a scowl.

"What's to understand?" King bit back on a moan as Velasquez's fingers poked at his wound, a little less gently than she may have done had he been human. "Fire burns, so does silver." It seemed that King was back to being a sarcastic pain in the ass, even if each word was bitten out, his face tight with pain.

Frank straightened up, managing to loom over King without taking a step closer.

"Fine," King said, flinching again as Velasquez continued to poke and prod, and avoiding Frank's eyes. She could understand why when he was still strapped down by one wrist, forcing him into a supine position, driving home just how vulnerable he was. He still looked shocky, paler even than his vampire nature could account for, and there was an unpleasant grey pallor to his skin, shock or sickness or both. "I woke up to find my wrist on fire."

"And it just woke you up? You didn't notice until it was halfway through your wrist?" Frank sounded dubious, and when he put it like that, Abby couldn't blame him for having doubts.

King tried to shrug, one shouldered, but that was obviously a mistake; he froze halfway through the movement, pulling his injured wrist closer to his chest. "I was asleep," he said, and he sounded deflated now, obviously struggling, as though he'd used up all of his energy being sarcastic in Frank's general direction. "I don't..."

"We keep him sedated," Velasquez interrupted quietly, and King's expression stilled, the look in his eyes telling Abby clearly that he hadn't known that. It left her feeling vaguely uncomfortable, despite the fact that keeping him sedated made sense.

"Do you think you could not do that?" King asked, not looking at Velasquez and avoiding Abby's eyes, too. "Or at least, you know, take the fucking silver off first."

"Do we still need the silver?" Abby asked quietly, directing her question at Velasquez, who might be reasonable about it, instead of Frank, who wouldn't, not when it came to the perceived safety of his team. "Given that you said his... viral load was dropping, so it may not even be effective for much longer?"

Velasquez looked straight at Frank, biting at her bottom lip as she mulled it over. And then she shrugged, a move she pulled off far more effectively than King had.

"Fine," Frank bit out tersely, gesturing at Mick to hand the bolt-cutters over again. He made short work of the other cuff; Dex's handkerchief fluttered to the ground, job done. Somehow Abby didn't think he'd want it back.

Once the silver had gone, the tension finally eased out of King, leaving him boneless and hollow-eyed on the bed. It drove home to Abby just how on edge he'd been, at least while awake. In spite of his obvious pain, his eyes were slowly drifting shut, the exhaustion or sedation dragging him down again. He was fighting it every step of the way, but he was losing.

"Whistler..." Frank's voice gave nothing of what he was thinking away, but when Abby looked up at him, he nodded his head towards the door. When he was sure she'd got the message, he jerked his chin at Velasquez.

"Sedated or not," he said, "you keep him strapped down."

Velasquez tipped him a salute, but King tensed up again, his eyes flying open and fixing on Frank. His lips parted slightly, as though he was going to say something - argue or beg, and either looked likely - but as she watched, the animation drained from his face, leaving him pale and shaky. He pulled his arm into his body, cradling it protectively as though that was going to be enough to stop Mick and Velasquez from tying him down again, and his expression was resigned.

It sent another unwelcome surge of sympathy for him through her, tightening in her throat. In a moment of weakness, she let her fingers come to rest his arm. "I'll be back in a few minutes," she said, as though he was going to care one way or the other. As though she was going to be any less wary or any gentler with him than her team mates.

The fact that he actually looked grateful left a sour taste in her mouth. Her fingers slipped away from his skin and she followed after Frank silently.

Frank was waiting for her out of sight and out of earshot. She figured that she was in for an ass-kicking given the stupid risk she'd taken. Frank was not a fan of stupid risks, but Frank also liked to have the element of surprise on his side. "Hedges has found something," he said, gesturing towards Hedges' little cubby hole, leaving her off-balance and struggling for something to say, the words of apology she was busy pulling together dying on her lips.

Hedges wasn't expecting them judging by the way that Frank's arrival flustered him, but maybe that was simply the effect that Frank had on him all of the time; Abby didn't know Hedges well enough yet to be able to tell.

Frank wasn't in a cooperative mood. He simply leaned against the wall and folded his arms, watching Hedges hawkishly and not elaborating on whatever it was that he wanted Hedges to share. That left Hedges' eyes darting between the pair of them, clearing his throat nervously.

Abby felt some sympathy for him. Frank was difficult to get used to the best of times, and since they'd taken King on board, Frank had not been at his best. "What have you got?" she asked, not missing the way that Hedges' eyes darted towards Frank again before he answered her.

"Well, it turns out that none of the newspapers native to Vancouver actually **have** online news archives, yet, although one of the biggest now has a web presence." He was babbling, as he did when he got nervous - she'd already gathered that much about him. What she hadn't figured out yet was how to deal with it. All she could do was mimic Frank, leaning against his desk, folding her arms and giving him an impatient little head nod. "So we're back to old fashioned detective work, trawling through microfiche. And by 'we', I mean not me, since I couldn't exactly haul ass up to Vancouver for something that might not pan out." He smiled nervously, but she didn't return it. She didn't need to know the how, just the what, and Hedges' smile soon faded.

Frank finally decided to step in. "Just tell her what you've got, Hedges."

"Okay." He wiped his hands on the legs of his pants. "We started five years ago, in Vancouver, and we were right. Or rather, you were right. Here..." He started to dig through the pile of loose papers on his desk, which tottered precariously. Only Abby slamming her hand firmly down on the top of it prevented it from collapsing onto the floor.

"Right," Hedges muttered, adding a belated, "Thanks.

"Okay, to start with, this is an article from the Vancouver Sun, July 1997." He thrust one of the sheets of paper he'd dug out at her and she grabbed it instinctively. It turned out to be a fax, the previous day's date at the top. "That's our first piece of the puzzle..."

She scanned the page, taking in the salient points as quickly as she could, and then started at the top again, reading it more slowly this time.

Hedges leaned over her shoulder, or rather around it given that he wasn't much taller than her. "He was out drinking with friends. They took three days to report him missing - they... I think they thought he'd scored." He frowned, as though the idea of 'scoring' was an alien one. Or maybe it was just the 'friends' that threw him. And then he seemed to give himself a mental shake, snapping back to the present and giving Abby his full attention.

"He was a student?"

"Yep," Hedges confirmed. "University of Chicago. Grad student, I'd guess, although it doesn't spell that out and doesn't say what in - I'm going to hazard a guess at Frat Boy.

"Anyway, you'll notice it took a while for the Vancouver papers to pick it up. I guess it must have been a slow news day. The article's very much 'local family still searching for missing son' rather than anything concrete." He twitched another smile at her, clearing his throat nervously again. She nodded and didn't protest when he reached out and plucked the sheet of paper from her hand; she had what she needed from it.

"Okay, moving on," Hedges said, riffling through his small bundle of papers. "Birth certificate - luckily he was born in Vancouver, so that wasn't too difficult. His middle name's Joseph, by the way." He waved the facsimile of that under her nose but pulled it away again before she could do more than glance at it. "We got a copy of the old style certification so, you know... there's an address. Not sure if his family is still there thirty years later, but..."

He trailed off, glancing between Abby and Frank. Abby kept silent, and once again Frank was keeping his own counsel.

"The police report might be a bit difficult to get hold of," Hedges continued, and this time his smile was more like a wince. "We...er... don't exactly have many friends in the local cop shop, never mind Chicago. But I'll keep trying. See if we can't figure out more of what happened to him."

"We know what happened to him, Hedges," Abby said quietly.

"He ran into Danica Talos," Frank added. When she glanced across at him, his face was drawn down into a frown.

"If King gives us intel on her, will we be going after her next?"

Frank stilled for a moment, his expression torn before it smoothed out, everything sinking back below the surface. "Any ideas you have about that, Whistler, forget them. The Talos clan are way beyond our pay grade, at least for the time being. So let's not go picking fights with the big boys and girls until we've taken out the ones who are more our size first, okay?"

She wasn't happy with the answer, but she knew Frank well enough to know it was going to be all she'd get. She settled on nodding at him slowly, just to acknowledge his point while she turned Hedges' new information over in her mind and tried to it fit what she knew of King. It didn't, not yet, but that didn't mean she was going to discard it.

And there was one important piece that did fit.

"He was telling the truth," she said quietly, and Frank grunted, not entirely in agreement.

"Some of it, probably," he said. His eyes were piercing as he held her gaze. "Five years is a hell of a long time, Whistler, especially when he's been in the clutches of someone like Danica Talos. Who the hell knows what she's had him doing, or what he's done without her asking. Don't get too hung up on trying to save him.

"Five years is a hell of a lot of people fed on. He's still breathing. They aren't. Think on that before you start baking him a 'welcome back to humanity' cake."

Franks tone had been measured, no slam intended by his words, but they stung anyway, probably because there was more than a grain of truth in them.

"Um..." Hedges was back to darting looks between them, obviously not wanting to get caught up in whatever undercurrents he thought he could see. "Do you want me to keep digging?"

Frank's eyes stayed locked on hers for long moments before he finally looked away to acknowledge Hedges.

"Yes," he said simply. "Anything you find, no matter how insignificant you think it is, you let me know straight away." He turned back to Abby and raised his eyebrow at her. "Haven't you got some babysitting to do?"


	4. Chapter 4

It took the better part of a week for King's temperature to drop to the point where he spent more time awake than asleep, even without Velasquez sedating him. Abby, however, saw very little of him. Whether it was down to Mick pissing him off once too often, or because he thought it was a good idea to keep her away from King for the time being, Frank had her hunting most nights.

She didn't mind. As fascinating as King was, it felt good to get back in the field. She went with Dex more often than not, and he was smart enough to hang back, let her do her thing and only step in when she needed it.

She didn't need it often, not when they stuck to the edges of the vampire world: the loners; the stragglers; the ones who hunted in small packs, disenfranchised from the complex, political world that existed at the top of the vampire heap.

There were enough outcasts to keep her busy and she slid into the rhythm of it easily, cutting through the dark streets, the subways and underpasses, the alleys and the narrow lanes that marked their territory, the places where the scent of blood drew them.

But she was the shark in the water. Most of the time they didn't stand a chance, which was just the way she liked it.

When she got back to base one morning, sweaty and satisfied, Mick was waiting for her, leaning against the side of the building, a cigarette clutched in one hand.

"Frank wants you," he grunted at her by way of a greeting. "Your vampire pet's awake." He took a puff, blowing smoke rings that somehow managed to blow into her face.

She stared him down until he looked away, scowling. "Seems he's not a vamp any more," he said, and that was as close to an apology as she was going to get from Mick.

He pushed himself away from the wall, stubbing out his cigarette with the toe of his boot. "You coming, then?" he asked. "Or are you saving that for later? When he's up and about, maybe?" She shoved him as she walked past him, grinning over her shoulder as he stumbled and swore at her, his words lacking heat.

"Dick," muttered Dex. She wasn't going to disagree, but at least Mick was their dick.

Frank was waiting for her in the armoury, discussing something with Hedges. She waited as patiently as she knew how for Frank to extract himself, but after a few moments, he waved her over.

Hedges' face was grave underneath the twitchiness, and she slowed her steps, scanning Frank's face for any hint of what he was about to tell her. Her first thought was King, that the cure hadn't worked or - worse - that it had killed him, although why she should give a shit was beyond her. But Mick, as much of an ass as he was, wasn't deliberately cruel. He wouldn't have lied about that.

"What's going on?" she asked quietly.

Hedges darted a quick look at Frank. "Well, I've -" he started, but Frank cut him off.

"Sommerfield's given King the all clear."

"Okay." She drew the word out, still trying to figure out what she was missing.

"We start grilling him. Anything he tells us, we verify, use what we can."

It made sense, and she found herself nodding even though the need for this level of secrecy was escaping her. But then Frank looked to Hedges, the kind of look that put her instantly on edge.

"I've been... well, I've been tracking the news sites for any mention of King. I wasn't expecting anything, maybe a notification that they'd finished putting the archives online -"

"Hedges," Frank warned.

"Yes, sorry. Um..." Hedges stared down at the paper in his hands, looking flustered. "This came through yesterday. I think you should read it."

When he thrust it at her, she took it automatically, turning it around so that she could read the headline. She got as far as the end of the first paragraph before she looked back to Hedges for confirmation.

"It's the same address," he said in answer to her unasked question, his voice subdued. "As the one on King's birth certificate, I mean. I guess they never moved."

"Jesus." She stared back down at the paper again, not reading the article but staring at the picture set next to it instead, a posed portrait of a neatly turned out couple in late middle age. "Does he know?"

"Not yet," Frank replied. "I need him focused."

She nodded and then, because that didn't seem enough, she added a soft, "Okay."

"All right," said Frank. "It's game time."

-o-

When Dex and Velasquez finally escorted King into the large room they used as a mess, there was no doubting that he was still their prisoner. They flanked him, one on either side of him, half a step behind him and with both of them watching him warily.

He looked much better than he had the last time that Abby had seen him. There was a fresh bandage wrapped around his left wrist, where the silver cuff had bitten in deep, and Abby took that to mean his wound hadn't healed well. He seemed to have regained the mobility in his hand, at least, and his colour was better.

They'd also given him the opportunity to shower and change - his hair was damp, sticking up from his head, but the clothes they'd found for him afterwards must have been Frank's, who was closest in size and build to King. They were still too small for him. The sweatpants weren't too bad, although he was narrower around the waist and hips than Frank, and the pants had slipped down a couple of inches, probably the only reason they'd reached his feet. The t-shirt was a worse fit, stretched across his chest as though it had shrunk in the wash and leaving a couple of inches of his stomach bare.

Taken together, they made it difficult to miss the dark black of the glyph, tattooed a couple of inches below his navel.

She filed the sight of it away, even though it begged more questions than it answered, while she busied herself with pouring a cup of coffee. It bought her some time to think her way through the best approach to take to get King to open up. Once again, Frank hadn't been in a sharing mood; he'd always had a tendency to be a close-mouthed bastard, but this recent level of secrecy was starting to eat at her.

Dex pointed King towards a chair at one end of the table, and he sank down into it wordlessly. Dex kept going, heading towards the other end of the table where Frank had positioned himself. Velasquez followed him, paying very little attention to King, and Mick emerged from the door behind Frank, still buttoning up his fly, which she hoped to God meant he'd just been to the bathroom.

Given that Sommerfield and Hedges were already firmly ensconced in seats beside Frank, it meant that - deliberately or not - her team had ranged themselves at one end of the table, all of them neatly aligned against King.

King hadn't missed it, which simply confirmed her suspicions that he wasn't stupid. He fidgeted a little, avoiding anyone's eyes, staring out of the window to where the sun shone down over the neighbouring derelict buildings. A brief look of longing passed over his face before he damped it down again, curling his fingers together so that they didn't twitch and give away anything that he was thinking.

"Coffee?" she asked, and it took King a moment to realise that she was talking to him.

He stared at her, thrown and blinking his confusion, but before he could answer, Velasquez interrupted with a firm, "No stimulants."

"That would be a no, then," he said, but the words lacked his normal cockiness - what little there was in his voice was strained, as though he felt like he needed to make the effort but his heart wasn't in it. He was still too thin and washed out, with dark shadows underneath his eyes.

She grabbed a bottle of water for him instead, placing it on the table next to him and taking a seat that was halfway along the side of the table, which meant that it was halfway between King and her team.

"I notice I don't get offered a cup of coffee," Mick groused, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms.

"You want a cup?"

"Yes."

"Get off your ass and get it then."

Mick shoved two fingers up at her and pushed himself to his feet, grumbling.

"Get me one while you're up," Dex drawled, and Mick scowled over his shoulder at his friend.

King was watching them, picking absently at the label on his water bottle with his thumbnail. Dex and Mick's banter had put him a little at ease. There was a small smile playing around the corner of his mouth, but his brow was crinkled, as though he wasn't entirely sure he was supposed to find their fooling funny. The smile disappeared as soon he caught sight of Frank watching him. Frank's face was drawn down into the frown he'd been wearing since they'd first found King, and Abby could see how that would be intimidating for someone who felt as vulnerable to Frank's whims as King undoubtedly did.

King looked away, twisting the top off his water bottle and taking a slow swig from it. He was obviously playing for time, and Abby couldn't blame him for it.

"Tell me about Danica Talos."

Frank, as usual, shot straight from the hip, no time or patience for the social niceties. It wasn't the way that Abby would have opened things with King, not when King was obviously so ill at ease, and she wasn't at all surprised to see that the question - and the brusque, straight to the point tone it was delivered in - had King tensing up, his mouth setting mulishly. For once, however, he seemed to have reached the conclusion that being a smart-ass wasn't the way to go.

"What do you want to know?" he asked mildly, and Frank tapped his fingernails on the table, an impatient little sound that gave away more than Frank usually did.

"How about you start with how far her operation spreads, how many familiars she's running, and what her plans are, and move on from there?"

King arched his eyebrows, a look of polite disbelief on his face. But there was something else lurking behind it, something that again had Abby thinking that he was stalling.

"What makes you think I know anything about what Danica gets up to?" He sounded bored, but his gaze darted away from Frank's. Either he was a terrible liar or an excellent one.

Frank snorted, his impatience now clear on his face. "What makes you think I give a shit?"

The muscle in King's jaw jumped, but he didn't challenge Frank. He didn't answer him, either, biting at his lip like he didn't know where to start or how much to share. Frank wasn't going to get anywhere like this; the certainty settled into Abby's chest, and it made her reckless.

"Why don't you start at the beginning?" she said, and Frank shot her a guarded look, one she ignored with some effort. It was habit to feel like she had to justify herself to Frank, even when he didn't ask her to. "With Danica..."

King fixed his eyes on her, maybe because it was easier, less intimidating than looking at Frank. "It... it's stupid, you know? I was out with friends, we went to a bar, and I went straight for the one that screamed bad news." He gave a diffident little shoulder shrug, and a small smile formed on his face, one that seemed to be aimed at himself.

"I do that," he said. "It's like I've got a sixth sense for who's going to fuck my life up the most and I just can't resist. There was Veronica... she threw all of my shirts in the garbage. Then there was Natalie... she cheated on me with my best friend at the time. Can't hold that against them too much - they actually ended up getting married, which is legal in Canada. I sent them a fruit basket - I thought that was oddly appropriate."

He trailed off, and Frank shifted in his seat, the look on his face edging past impatient and heading towards forbidding.

"It was Don's birthday, so he got to pick where we went." The look in King's eyes was distant, as though he was working his way through his memories, pulling them up from wherever he'd safely pushed them down. "He picked this techno place, totally not my kind of scene, but he was turning thirty, so I guess he needed to feel like he was still young or something equally pathetic. It was too loud, too bright, but there was this woman..." He trailed off for a moment, and she couldn't figure out whether the memories were good or bad. "Long legs, fuck me shoes, and fuck you attitude." He shrugged again, staring into space rather than looking at any of them now, his fingernails still picking at the bottle's label. "I actually thought we'd hit it off, if you can believe that. Everything was going swimmingly, at least until she bit me. I mean, Jesus. She fucking **bit me**. And then her cell phone rang." He let out a bitter laugh, oddly out of place with his even tone. "So I'm bleeding to death in her bed while she's taking this oh so important phone call, like I'm **nothing**."

The last few words held a bewildered kind of grief in them, a sudden switch in tone that she could sympathise with. She wasn't the only one, judging by the faces around the table. All but Abby had lived the same story or some variation of it - their world ripped apart in an instant.

"Why did she let you turn? Why not finish you off?" Frank's voice was calm and steady, but there were undercurrents of disbelief lurking just under the surface, and King didn't miss those either.

"I'm a good lay," he shot back, sliding his swagger into place like it was the only armour he had or needed.

Frank wasn't amused. "Tell me about Talos' plans," he said again, locking his eyes with King. His tone was gentle, but his expression was firm and unyielding. "What's she up to? How many people is she running?"

"I don't know."

"All that time with her - five years - and you don't know anything?"

"She's not exactly the sharing kind."

"No?" Frank leaned forward in his chair, folding his hands neatly on the table and staring at King, his brow pulled down into an irritated frown. "Can't be that good a lay if she never bothered with pillow talk."

King had no answer to that, but the muscle in his jaw twitched again as he looked away from Frank. Frank studied him for a long moment, his expression giving nothing away. "You have a clan tattoo."

King shrugged his shoulders again, jerky and uncoordinated, still avoiding looking at Frank. His expression was stubborn, mulish and uncooperative.

"Want to tell me why you have that if she just picked you up in a bar?"

"She gave it to me once I'd turned."

"Really?" Frank didn't bother to hide the scepticism in his tone. It was the wrong tone to take, not when King was already feeling vulnerable and defensive; Abby shuffled in her seat but a sharp look from Frank kept her silent this time. Frank turned his attention back to King, and his tone was dry as dust. "That doesn't happen in my experience."

"And your experience is just so vast and all encompassing, right?"

"I've spent the last twenty years killing vampires, **boy**." Frank leaned forward, his expression dangerous. "Don't think you stand a chance if I decide you're more trouble than you're worth. As far as I'm concerned, you're just another familiar who got what they wanted."

"Right." There was a sharp note of anger in King's voice now, too. "Can I be frank, Frank? Since we're apparently in a sharing mood and all. Given that you've never been turned into a vampire by a psycho ex-girlfriend, forgive me if I happen to think that your so-called vast experience is a crock of shit."

Frank's expression froze, a glint of anger in his eyes. Shit. Frank was going to hate her for it, but she needed to head this off and head it off fast if they were going to get anything useful out of King. She'd apologise later, if she still needed to once Frank had come to his senses.

"Why turn you?" she asked, keeping her voice calm and even. She looked directly at King, but that didn't mean she wasn't all too aware of Frank and the mingled disapproval and irritation he was radiating. "That's not the way these things usually play out."

"You don't believe I'm a good lay?"

She didn't smile. "I don't believe that was the only reason."

"So you do believe I'm a good lay?"

"How about we focus on things that are actually important? And no," she added when he opened his mouth, more animation in his eyes than had been there for the rest of the conversation. "That isn't."

King glanced away from her, his eyes meeting Frank's for a moment before his gaze dropped to the table, where he was absentmindedly drawing patterns in the condensation dripping from his bottle of water. "In case you hadn't noticed," he began slowly, "I've got a bit of an attitude problem. And while a gentleman obviously never asks a lady her age, Danica's got hundreds of years on the clock." He looked up and met Abby's eyes. "She's bored," he said simply. "She's really fucking bored, and I'm at least entertaining."

"So... she decided she needed a boyfriend?"

King let out a bitter laugh. "My tattoo's two inches above my dick," he said. "Why don't we think about that for a moment?"

She did, and the scenario she came up with wasn't pretty. "She marked you as her property?"

"I think the most appropriate term would be 'fuck toy'," he said brightly, but his eyes stayed bitter.

It silenced her enough for Frank to step in. "So as her 'fuck toy'," he phrased the term ironically, and King tensed up again, enough to have Abby biting back on a sigh, wondering how the hell Frank, who was usually so smart, could be so stupid when it came to King. "She didn't tell you anything?"

"Did you miss the part where I said she wasn't the sharing kind?"

"Did you miss the part where I said I didn't give a shit?"

The muscle jumped in King's jaw again. "She didn't let me off the leash much," he said, and there were whole worlds in those words. "Mostly she got Asher to do her dirty work."

"Asher?" Frank straightened up, suddenly interested.

"Asher Talos. Danica's brother."

"They're pure bloods?"

"No." King frowned, apparently thrown by the question. "Difficult as it is to believe, Danica was actually human once. She got turned, turned Asher, near as I could tell. The family that slays together and all that jazz."

Frank considered this, the wheels turning behind his stony façade as he stared at King. " **Mostly** she got Asher to do her dirty work. That's what you said."

"Yes."

"But not always."

King's jaw twitched again, his gaze darting away from Frank's. "What do you want to know? That I ran errands for her sometimes? That I behaved myself? Was a good little boy?"

"Were you?"

Maybe it was the tone in Frank's voice that triggered it, but King seemed to reach a decision, finally looking Frank in the eye. "She set me on fire once," he said, and it took a second for Abby parse the words, for them to actually make a horrible, macabre sense. "It... it's not really something I can recommend. But it worked. I was good." His mouth quirked up in the slightest of smiles, but there was no humour in it, nothing but a kind of broken emptiness. "I was very, **very** good for... oh, **months**."

Frank didn't say anything, but he didn't break King's gaze, holding it steadily, nothing of what he was thinking showing on his face.

King was the one to look away first, but Abby got the impression that it was nothing to do with not being able to face Frank.

"The first time I fed..." He trailed off, eyes distant again and swallowing, as though the memory of that thirst was leaving him dry and parched now. He didn't take a drink, although his fingers tightened around his bottle for a moment. "I wouldn't, not at first. But the thirst... you don't know what it's like until you've been through it."

"So you gave in." It wasn't a question, and Frank's tone wasn't kind, but it wasn't needlessly cruel either - just hard and uncompromising, much like Frank himself.

King swallowed again, but again she didn't think it was because of Frank.

"No," he said. "Danica..." He trailed off again, expression bleak. "I wouldn't, and she got tired of it. All dressed up and taunting, with no pay-off. She has a short attention span sometimes. And for someone who's lived as long as she has, she's really fucking impatient." His expression twisted for a moment in remembered pain. "She bit her, right in front of me. And all I could smell was the blood and I wanted it, God, I wanted it. And she told me..." He let out a breathless little laugh. "She told me that this girl was going to turn. She was going to become a monster, like me, live forever like me, and that Danica would make every single second of that eternal life an absolute fucking misery. She'd have done it, too."

"So you killed her to save her."

"No." King let out another one of those broken little laughs, one that twisted in Abby's gut, sharp-edged as it was with grief and guilt. "I killed her because I couldn't save myself."

It was ugly and awkward watching King like this, watch him twist and tie himself in painful knots. But he hadn't finished. He finally took a swig of water, his hand shaking so that drops of it ran down his chin.

"So if you want to know if I was strong enough, if I was brave enough to... what? Keep hold of my humanity? No, I wasn't. Most of the time I worked on pissing Danica off because it was the only thing I had, the only thing I could do that still felt like me. But frankly, Frank? After the whole fire thing, I usually made sure I didn't go too far."

It would have been easier to deal with King's words if they'd been confrontational, if he'd thrown them in Frank's face just to piss Frank off the same way that he claimed he liked to piss Danica off. But they weren't; they were quiet and subdued, when King was anything but.

"You never thought of getting out?"

"And go where? Until Abby here offered me the chance of a goddamned cure, I didn't see how there could be a way out. Even if I got away from Danica, where the fuck was I going to go? I'd still be a monster. No chance of outrunning that."

"No," Frank agreed. "And now?"

There was something in Frank's tone that caught King's attention, leaving him watchful and wary. A cautious look formed slowly on his face as he searched Frank's expression for some sign of what was going on in the razor sharp mind behind it. Whatever he was looking for, he didn't seem to find it.

"Is this the point where you tell me that now that you know the cure works, you're going to take me out back and put a bullet in my brain?" He said it lightly, as though it was a joke, but the look in his eyes said otherwise. There was real fear in there, and something else, something that said he wouldn't have been surprised. She got the feeling that he'd be more surprised now if shit didn't happen to him.

King's question had her shuffling uncomfortably in her seat - and she wasn't the only one around the table doing so - but it didn't seem to faze Frank at all.

"We've discussed it," he said, which was news to Abby. The hurt was sudden and surprisingly sharp. "Sommerfield needs to monitor you for a while yet. Make sure the cure's really taken."

King cast a look at Sommerfield, hope and dread mingled together in it. "I'm... glad?" he said. "And then? I'm a little curious about my long term prospects."

Frank leaned forward, putting more of his weight on his folded hands. His eyes were keen, as focused on King as they'd been throughout, but there was something else in them, something that was not eagerness or anticipation, but watchful and waiting. Dread settled in Abby's stomach, a suspicion of what was coming.

"I'm sure you'd like to go home," he said, and Abby made an abortive move, one that died stillborn when Frank turned his piercing blue eyes onto her. She'd thought he wasn't cruel; she didn't want to be proved wrong.

King didn't miss it. When she looked back at him, meeting his eyes helplessly for a moment, her dread had transferred to him. He swallowed slowly, no idea what was coming but knowing he wasn't going to like it. "Eventually," he said cautiously.

"That's not going to be possible."

From the way that King's shoulders slumped, she suspected that he'd known that, known it and tried to be resigned to it. But it was also clear that he thought that was the worst that was coming.

He was wrong.

Frank slid a folded piece of paper across the table towards King. She knew what it was, but King couldn't even have had an inkling and before she could say anything, warn him, the look in Frank's eyes stopped her short again. They were calm, too calm for what he was doing.

King glanced at her, hesitating as he caught sense of some of what she was trying not to show. Something must have been slipping around the edges of the serenity she was trying to project, because King swallowed as he reached for the paper, pulling it slowly towards him and looking at her again once he had it, searching her face.

The dread settled back into his eyes as he unfolded it and started to read.

Whatever he'd expected - whatever he'd tried to prepare himself for - it wasn't this. His eyes widened and he let out a sound, soft and wounded, as though someone had just knifed him in the gut, driving all of his breath out of him.

His fingers were shaking as they smoothed the paper out, a repetitive little motion as though he thought that if he straightened it, made it pristine, it would reveal itself as a fake, not real. But he couldn't manage it; he let go, his fingers curling against the table top as he shook.

"What the...?" Mick, of course. Abby ignored him, her attention focused on King.

King looked up, his eyes glassy and hollow. "When?" he asked, and that sound, too, was forced out of him, rough and hoarse.

"Two days ago," Frank replied evenly, while next to him Hedges swallowed, a look of guilt crossing his face as though he felt that by finding it he was somehow responsible for it.

King's breath escaped him in a huff, something that sounded half-choked. "How long have you known?"

"We... um..." Hedges shot a nervous sideways glance at Frank, obviously uncomfortable. "We found out yesterday."

"Yesterday?" King's voice broke for a second. "You **knew** and you didn't tell me?" He switched his attention from Hedges, staring straight at Abby, the hurt and betrayal written clearly on his face. "You **knew**?"

The grief in his voice silenced her, and she swallowed down all of her justifications; if he needed to rage, to grieve, she'd let him. It wouldn't be the first time she'd watched someone fall apart in front of her. It wouldn't be the last.

Frank said nothing, but Hedges was more honest. "We... um... only told Abby just before..." His voice trailed off, fingers twitching guiltily.

"I'm sorry," Abby said quietly, as though that could ever be enough. King looked at her, his eyes wide and wet. He nodded jerkily, but he didn't let the tears fall, not yet.

"Someone want to fucking well clue me in?" Mick asked again, sounding pissed.

"Um... King's parents. They... um... were killed two days ago," Hedges explained, the words finally falling out in a rush as though if he said it quickly it would be less painful. "Home invasion."

"It wasn't a home invasion," King said brokenly, and there was no anger there, not yet. It would come, she knew. Once he'd had time to process.

"It was Danica Talos," Frank stated calmly, and King threw him a look - there was anger in there now, mingled with the grief, but Frank didn't look away. King did, and his face folded in on itself as he tried desperately not to fall apart in front of them.

"Fuck," Mick breathed slowly, and for once she didn't want to strangle him. There was a kind of shocked awe in his tone, but the look he gave King was as sympathetic as Mick ever got. But then Mick could appreciate what King was going through.

"I didn't think she knew," King whispered brokenly. "Where they were... that they... Her family's been dead so fucking long... I didn't think she knew." He took another shaky breath, and somehow she knew what was coming. "This is my fault."

"No." Her mouth was dry, and she swallowed, not finding the words easy. "It's Danica's fault." It didn't seem to help and she hated that she had to do this, but she'd never been one to back away from the hard things. "King. Your brother -"

His head snapped up, his face horrified and hopeless. His body was tense, bowing towards her as though he dreaded what she was going to say next but needed to hear it anyway. "Which? Alex? Julius?" His expression cracked, and so did his voice. "Both?"

She shook her head, rapidly incorporating the idea of two brothers into what little she already knew of King. "Neither as far as we know, but you know Danica better than anyone here. Will she go after them, too?"

He blinked at her, and the action finally sent a tear rolling down his cheek. He seemed oblivious to it, but Abby wasn't. It hurt seeing him like this, and it shouldn't.

"I..." He stopped dead, his face slack with shock and grief. It was all too understandable - he was still reeling, and she'd just thrown him another curveball. His grief was too close, too personal, and she'd never been any good at dealing with stuff like that. All she wanted to do was get as far away from him as possible; instead she reached out and placed her fingers on his arm, awkwardly pressing them against his skin and hoping it helped.

He didn't pull away.

"I don't know," he said eventually, the words coming out in a rush. "I don't think so..." His face twisted with grief again. "She lashes out, you know? But she has a short attention span. She..."

"She might not care enough to find them?" she completed for him. The words might have been brutal but the idea was enough to have King start the slow, painful process of putting the pieces of himself together, papering over the cracks as much as he could so that they wouldn't see.

"Yeah. And even if she did... she's kind of weird about brothers." He paused, his eyes still wet and red-ringed, but he'd locked everything down as tightly as he could now. Only his ragged breathing and the sensation of his arm trembling underneath her fingers gave him away. "She killed the rest of her family."

But not her brother. Maybe that would be enough to mean that King's would be spared.

"I'll... I'll see what else I can find out," said Hedges quietly, watching King awkwardly, clearly uncomfortable. But then Hedges had his own grief; they all did.

"You stay long enough for Sommerfield to get what she needs from you," Frank said gruffly. "And after that..." He paused, waiting until King finally looked up and met his eyes, his own giving nothing away. "We'll see."

-o-

King's face haunted her, although she had no idea why she cared so much. Maybe it had been the naked grief she'd seen written there, or maybe the fact that he was still an enigma and she hated not understanding what was going on, even if it was only what was going on inside his head. Whatever the reason, she found herself standing outside his door, still not sure if she actually wanted to go in and see him.

Mick was on guard, but since Mick seldom gave a fuck about anything, he wasn't giving her any grief, even if he was eyeing her like he suspected that she'd lost her mind. Maybe he had a point. She hesitated for another long moment, and then finally knocked on the door.

There was a long pause before King said, "Come in." He didn't sound very welcoming, but she opened the door anyway, easing her way inside and shutting it behind her.

King was sitting on the bed, still dressed in Frank's too small cast-offs. His back was against the wall, but she tried not to read too much into that, like she tried not to read too much into the fact that his legs were curled up and his feet bare and oddly defenceless - she guessed that Frank's shoes hadn't fit him that well.

He stared back at her silently, his face blank and pale and his eyes red rimmed. She half expected him to recover himself, say something funny and borderline obscene to mask everything he was feeling, the way he'd been hiding behind his smart mouth since they'd first brought him back, but he just swallowed and looked away, his fingers flexing nervously against the fabric of his sweats.

That left her to break the silence.

"I thought I'd check in... see how you're doing."

He licked his lips, still avoiding her eyes. "Thanks," he said, and his voice was shaky. It seemed cruel to push it, insist on knowing how he was doing when it was obvious that the answer was not very well.

She nodded, resisting the urge to wipe her one free sweaty palm against her pants. "I, um... I had Hedges print something out for you." She glanced down at the printout she had in her hand, and then shoved it awkwardly towards him, glad that it hadn't smeared.

He hesitated for a moment before he took it; she couldn't blame him for that one, not after the stunt that Frank had pulled. He searched her face for long moments, almost as if he was looking for some sign that she was about to kick him when he was down. He didn't seem to find it, finally turning the card over. When he saw the picture printed on it he swallowed again, his face crumpling a little.

"It's just from the newspaper website," she explained. "It turned out that they'd used a... higher resolution picture and just squashed the size down." That had been the explanation that Hedges had given her anyway, or at least as much of it as she could remember.

He nodded, his fingers touching the side of the photograph gently as he took in another shaky breath. His eyes were wet, and she shifted uncomfortably.

"I... I didn't think you'd have one. A picture of them, I mean."

"No," he said, his voice thick with unshed tears. "Thank you."

Something sharp tugged at her chest.

"Hedges found an obituary as well," she said gently. "If... if you want it." He swallowed again, pressing his lips tightly together and she hesitated before adding, "I thought you might like to know... They never stopped looking for you. That's what the obituary said anyway."

He nodded again, his breath even shakier, and she wasn't surprised when he blinked and a tear finally spilled over to roll down his face. He wiped it away impatiently with the heel of his hand. "Thank you," he said again, and this time the words were tight and choked.

There was nothing else she could think to say; she nodded and left him alone with his grief.

Mick had gone, but Frank was waiting for her outside, leaning against the wall with his arms folded. He looked up when he heard the door, meeting her eyes.

She stayed silent, unable to think of anything to say, nothing that would be productive, anyway, and Frank waited until she'd closed the door behind her before he finally spoke.

"You think I should have broken it to him differently." There was no anger in his voice, no sign of defensiveness, just a kind of tired blankness in Frank's voice that wasn't any easier for Abby to hear. "Maybe gone a bit easier him."

She hesitated before she nodded. "We could've earned his trust," she said, tacking a maybe onto the end of the sentence in the interest of full honesty. And because Frank being this quiet, this uncertain was outside her realm of experience

Frank stared at her for a long moment and then nodded thoughtfully. "I don't think you did too badly on that one," he said. "But I had to know." She frowned at him, struggling to follow his meaning, and he gave her a small, quiet smile before elaborating. "I needed to see how he reacted, Whistler. Needed to know if it was genuine."

She treated him to a long, steady look, trying to keep her face calm while her mind whirred behind it. "You still think it's a trap?"

"I think that there was a possibility that it was a trap." He rubbed his hand over his face, scrubbing the bristles that were already growing in with his palm. "I know it seems far-fetched," he admitted, "but you don't know Danica Talos."

"But you do know her?"

He paused for a moment, his fingers still curled in the act of scratching at his chin. "I know of her," he said eventually, and his tone was dry, and that was more familiar. "She's a devious bitch, and she's got a particular hate on for hunters. I wouldn't put it past her to sacrifice her favourite toy if she thought she could bring down someone like Blade."

She filed that away, as well, along with everything else she knew about King. It didn't seem feasible, but Frank had a hell of a lot more experience than she did in the vagaries of vampires. She wasn't about to question his judgement.

"What now?" she asked, and Frank's expression grew distant and thoughtful.

"Watch and wait," he said, giving her the kind of shrug she'd have expected to see from Dex rather than Frank. "Not a hell of a lot else we can do." He straightened up, tilting his head to look at her. "Just... don't get too cosy with him, not until we have a better idea of exactly which way the wind is blowing."

She nodded and he gave her a brief, approving smile, squeezing her shoulder before he walked away.

She watched him go and wondered what the hell it was about Danica Talos that had men like Frank and King running scared of her.


	5. Chapter 5

For the next week or so, King was a little quieter, and a lot more co-operative. Frank spent a lot of time with him, running through what King knew about the various vamp clans, and Abby usually made an excuse to be there. No matter what Frank might be thinking and not saying, it wasn't because she didn't trust Frank. She trusted Frank with her life - like her father trusted Frank enough to steer Abby towards him - but that wasn't why. Abby formed her own opinions, made her own judgements and always had.

Maybe that was why Frank wanted her to keep away from King.

King had been right about not knowing much. Even so, some of it was new to Abby, particularly the little titbits he let slip about the frictions and tensions that had sprung up between the various clans as they jockeyed to fill the power vacuum that had sprung up after Blade took down Deacon Frost, turning his ambitions to blood and dust. She listened with a keen ear, trying to identify any weaknesses her team could exploit or operations they could disrupt, but after that first day, she didn't interfere with Frank's line of questioning. Even if Frank's line of questioning became a little more forceful, a little more desperate with each passing day.

She didn't call Frank on it - these days he was brittle and snappish, not focused and fierce, and Abby wasn't about to add to whatever stress he was under. But Frank had never been stupid; it was one of the things she most admired about him.

"You still think I'm being too hard on him?" Frank asked one day, staring at her from over his coffee mug. The steam rising up from it clouded his expression in the dim morning light, and Abby blinked at him, her eyes gritty with tiredness from another all-night session with King.

There was something in Frank's tone that had her treading cautiously. "I... don't know." It was exactly the kind of wishy-washy answer that Frank had no time for. He scowled at her, his fingers tightening around his mug until they were white knuckled.

"Spit it out," he said heavily. "You're not normally shy about sharing your opinion, Whistler. Even when it's not asked for."

The words weren't fair, but Frank didn't seem to be interested in being fair, not this morning, and even though she knew it was frustration that was driving him, it left her peevish and irritable.

"I don't see the point in going over the same ground, again and again," she said. "You think that if you get him to repeat it, you'll trip him up?"

He scowled at her. "Standard interrogation technique," he said, his tone heavily sarcastic. "Which you'd know if you weren't still so wet behind the ears."

She slammed her own mug down on the counter, and the coffee slopped over the sides, burning her fingers, which was the surest sign she could have had that she needed to get a grip on her temper. For her own benefit, she thought wryly, never mind Frank's. "Okay," she said carefully. "Maybe you'd like to share some of your vast experience." So maybe Frank wasn't the only one who could be sarcastic.

She'd crossed the line. Frank's eyebrows lowered ominously, temper flaring across his face. He soon tamped it down, getting himself back under control, but the brief loss of it worried Abby more than she wanted to admit. Frank was ice and Frank was stone. He was solid when the rest of them weren't, and the faint cracks he was letting show now were out of character. Losing control was the kind of thing Frank warned them about.

Don't get stupid, and don't get dead. That was the mantra he lived by, and the mantra he drilled into the rest of them.

She backed down, her face scrunching up apologetically, and then watched worriedly as Frank didn't react, simply taking another sip of coffee, his grip on his mug still painfully tight and the look in his eyes distant.

"What am I missing?" she asked, making sure that it didn't come out sarcastic this time.

Frank's eyes focused on her, and he snorted. "A lot," he said caustically. "You haven't noticed how he's holding things back?"

She'd noticed. King was smart, but he wasn't subtle. Every time they got close to asking him about how he'd spent his time with Danica - his time with Danica, not about Danica's plans or her clan - he clammed up or, more usually, changed the subject.

"About Danica," she said, acknowledging Frank's point. "I noticed." Only it seemed that her interpretation of that had been much more charitable than Frank's. She hadn't missed the way that King's eyes had darkened whenever Frank's questions got too close, that brief moment of frozenness before he moved on, and she had her own suspicions about exactly what it was that King was hiding.

Frank let out a soft sound of disgust. "He can't be fucking trusted," he said. "I don't know why the hell you can't see that." He gave her a hard, sharp look. "He was a vamp, Whistler. You think that Sommerfield's cure changes any of that? How many people are dead because of him? How many has he killed?"

"Three hundred and nineteen," King said, and Abby's head jerked up, her heart skipping a beat as she took in the sight of him, Mick hanging back behind him. She'd been so tired, so lost in thought, that she hadn't heard them coming, but from the look of bitter satisfaction on Frank's face, he had.

"That I remember," King continued, his face pale but set. He shrugged, but the move wasn't dismissive so much as lost, and he didn't take his eyes off Abby's face, ignoring Frank entirely. "I lost track sometimes."

"You lost track of how many people you murdered?" Frank's tone was beyond simply contemptuous. "Convenient."

King bit at his lip, his gaze finally slipping away from Abby's. "Danica like to play games," he said. "Sometimes she liked to make me go hungry. You get hungry enough as a vamp, you start to lose track." He paused, something akin to horror rising slowly in his eyes. "You lose track of a lot of things. Sometimes it's easier that way."

"Easier." There was a world of rage in Frank's voice, and Abby couldn't blame him for it. There was a big difference, she was finding, between being aware of something on a purely intellectual level and actually hearing those words falling from King's mouth. "You ever kill kids?" Frank continued, and she tensed up, knowing exactly where that question was coming from.

"No."

"Danica ever kill kids?"

"Sometimes."

"You ever stop her?"

King hesitated and then admitted, slowly, "Sometimes I tried. Sometimes it even worked."

"Sometimes," Frank said flatly and then he ran his hand over his face. "Jesus."

"I told you." King sounded just as tired as the rest of them. "She liked to play games. If she thought..." He trailed off, glancing again at Abby as though he hoped the some support from that direction. "I have a type," he said, "Brunette, pretty, a little cool." It was difficult not to take his meaning, not when he cast another brief glance in her direction before his eyes skittered away. "She liked to hunt ones just like that, just so she could kill them in front of me. When I stopped caring, she moved on to kids." He shrugged again, but the move was lifeless, and so was his voice when he continued. "So I stopped caring there, too. Told her that I didn't know why the hell she would pick things that weren't ripe."

Frank was watching him closely, but there was none of the lurching sense of horror and twisted sympathy in his face that Abby felt. His eyes stayed flat and cold, an old and pained fury in their depths.

"I know how she killed my parents," King said, "I know **exactly** how she killed my parents." His voice was flat, just like Frank's expression, but she didn't think that was down to anger, just a kind of emotional numbness. She could understand it far too easily, given how she felt just listening. "She'd have killed Dad first, made Mom watch. Then she'd have killed Mom, and she'd have done it slowly. She loved her father, hated her mother, and I watched that play out so many fucking times." His voice broke, finally, and he took in a shaky breath, rubbing the scar left on his wrist by his silver cuff with his thumb, the way he did when he was agitated. "So many times. She and her brother are seriously fucking twisted, and -"

"And it was easier to lose track," Frank interrupted, and there was no warmth whatsoever in his voice, nothing but a terrible kind of emptiness. "Easier for you."

"Yes," King said, looking straight at Frank, and to give him at least some credit he didn't try to justify himself any further. He didn't need to; the self-loathing in his voice was clear.

Frank stared at him for a long moment, and there was no reading what he was thinking now, not when his face was carved from weathered stone. He finally tore his eyes away from King's face, looking past him to Mick. "Get him out of here," he said icily. "Get him out of my goddamned sight."

Abby stayed silent when they'd gone, still reeling and feeling like it was only the counter behind her that was holding her up.

"You still think he's worth saving?" Frank asked heavily, and she blinked up at him, the memories of King asking that exact same question while he was still chained up in Danica's dungeon overwhelming her. She didn't have an answer for him, not one he would like.

Not one she was sure about, anyway.

-o-

Almost a week passed with no final decision from Frank about what to do with King, maybe because he still wasn't sure himself, his practicality warring with his desire for revenge for the things that King had done while he wasn't human. Abby wasn't sure, and she wasn't interested in sitting in on King's interrogations any longer. Her feelings on the matter, however, were irrelevant. Frank seemed to have decided that he'd got everything useful out of King anyway, which put the entire team into a kind of limbo. The inactivity chafed at her, leaving her far too much time to think, too much time to dwell on what King might have done. It made her snappy and irritable, and while Frank didn't notice - too caught up in his own feelings on the subject - Velasquez did, and she'd always been much more likely than Frank to tackle things head on, dealing with them in that bullish way she had.

She cornered Abby in the mess, and kept her there by the simple precedent pulling a chair out and pushing a cup of coffee into her hand. When it looked like Hedges was about to join them, she sent him away with a flea in his ear, turning to Abby and asking, succinctly, "Are you ever going to spill what's bothering you?"

Abby huffed out a breath, sinking down into the chair and meeting Velasquez's eyes. "Has Mick been talking?"

"About what's bothering you? No, Abby. I've just got eyes. However, if you mean about King and how many people he's killed...?"

She said it so calmly, like she'd had no problem assimilating it and reconciling it with the man she'd been treating and seemed to like.

"Doesn't it bother you?"

"Ah." Velasquez took a sip from her own cup, something horrible and herbal. "I thought that might be it. What, you thought he was a vegetarian vampire?" There was a wry note of humour in her voice, and that didn't help with Abby's irritation levels.

"No, but..."

"It's simple math, Whistler. Vamps need to feed at least once a week to stay healthy, and five years at fifty-two weeks a year gives..."

"Two hundred and sixty," Abby completed automatically, and Velasquez grinned at her.

"Most eat more," she said. "Especially if they're hurt. The more they're hurt, the more they need to feed. So I wasn't surprised it was that many, just that it was that few."

"You think three hundred and nineteen is a few?"

"I think he was hurt a lot." She gave Abby a keen look. "He doesn't like to be touched, did you notice that?"

She hadn't, and Velasquez smiled at her confused look. "You're about the only person he doesn't have a problem with. For some reason, he seems to trust you."

"Apparently I'm his type," Abby said dryly, and Velasquez gave her another smile, something sharp and wolfish.

"Maybe. But if you want to know the real reason I'm... not okay, but not freaked out about it, then think on this. Sommerfield is working so hard on a cure because we know that it could be any of us, at any time, who gets bitten and turned." She brought her fingers up to touch them lightly against the small, silver cross she wore around her neck, next to the St Jude medallion. "We want to believe there's salvation for us if that happens. And if I'm going to believe that for me, then I've got to believe it for King."

Abby envied Velasquez's faith, in herself as much as in any deity.

"It's not that easy," she said, and Velasquez chuckled ruefully.

"It never is, honey."

-o-

After her conversation with Velasquez, Abby decided that she might as well stop pretending that King wasn't going to be a long-term problem. She couldn't forget what he'd done, but she couldn't keep on hating him for it either, and her wariness soon faded to a kind of bemused familiarity as his vampirism settled back into being an abstract concept instead of something she had to confront on a daily basis.

It was Velasquez who also finally decided to let King outside; she'd been muttering darkly about a lack of Vitamin D, but mostly Abby got the impression that she was tired of being cooped up inside all day watching over him. While there was no doubt that Velasquez had warmed to King a little more than the others, it didn't mean that she was stupid. None of them were - they made sure that King went out with at least two of them watching over him, and that both of his guards were armed.

Abby didn't have any objections - in truth, she was a little relieved that for once someone other than her was making a decision about King, especially as Frank didn't seem in any hurry to.

King rewarded their trust by behaving himself. He stretched out in the sunlight rather than giving them grief, soaking it in like he'd missed it somewhere deep in his bones, and it was only once it had sunk into his bones that he'd feel human again. He read a lot, too, which surprised her. Anything he could get his hands on: Hedges' technical manuals; Dex's back issues of _Guns and Ammo_ ; even the dog-eared romances that Velasquez devoured, and the trashier they were the better as far as Velasquez was concerned.

So when she cornered King on the dried out and scrubby patch of grass behind their base, she wasn't surprised to find him stretched out, dozing and shirtless, a book open on his chest. He opened his eyes when she stood over him, blinking up at her, one hand coming up to shield his face from the sun.

"Hey," he said, and his voice was a little rough, like he'd just woken up. He'd needed to be careful, as unused as he was to the sun. He was starting to tan, except for the raised, white patch of skin winding its way around the inside of his wrist.

"What size shoe do you wear?" she asked, not bothering with any of the social niceties.

He blinked up at her again, and she wasn't sure why - it wasn't as though the question was a hard one.

"Um... twelve and a half," he said.

She nodded, casting her eyes over his body. It was only when she finally reached his face again, catching the amused look on it, that she realised how it could be taken.

She refused to blush, meeting his eyes calmly. "Thirty-two, thirty-four long?" she asked, adding an unrushed and only slightly sarcastic, "For the pants?" when amusement flashed through his eyes again.

"Sure," he said, and his mouth quirked in a way that was becoming all too familiar to her. "Large for shirts."

She nodded again. "Need anything else?"

"A razor, please." His smile deepened. "And underwear would be nice."

She wasn't going to rise to the bait. Much. "Boxers or briefs?"

Now his grin was in full force. "You know, the answer to that's supposed to tell you way too much about a person. Maybe I should plead the fifth - unless you think you know too much already."

She nodded once, seriously. "Thongs it is, then," she said, and he laughed, the sound shaking his entire body and making her mouth curl up reluctantly in response.

"Boxer-briefs would be fine," he said eventually, and his eyes were the brightest she'd seen them all week. "I hate having to pick my underwear out of my ass-crack."

"Now **that** is way too much information." She waited until his mirth had died down before adding, "I'll see what I can do."

Mick was glowering at King sullenly as she turned away and headed towards him. "Any idea how much longer we're going to have to babysit him?" he asked when she drew near, and he didn't bother to lower his voice. Abby threw a look back over her shoulder at King, but if King had registered Mick's comment - and she didn't see how he couldn't have heard it - he didn't react. Instead, he was already stretched back out on his back, holding his book up to shield his eyes from the sun as he read on.

"No idea," she said, turning back to Mick. "Why don't you ask Frank?"

Mick snorted, giving her a jaundiced look as he cradled the arm he now had in a cast to his chest protectively. His last mission with Frank hadn't gone so well, so it was hardly surprising that he wanted to avoid Frank as much as possible, having already felt the edge of Frank's acerbic tongue. More acerbic than usual giving Frank's continuing foul temper. "Trying to get my arse kicked, are you?"

She smiled at him, showing him just enough teeth. "I'm perfectly capable of doing that myself, Mick. And you know it."

He stared at her for a moment, and then his lips turned up in a grin, exposing teeth that weren't as white or even as King's. "Yeah, I do, love," he said, knocking his good shoulder into her. "And since you're running errands for your boy, how about you bring me back a packet of fags 'n'all, yeah?"

She rolled her eyes at him as she headed down towards the truck, sketching out a quick wave towards Dex, who'd also pulled today's guard duty. "Those things will kill you eventually, Mick."

"Sure they will," he called after her. "Just not today."

She stopped at Goodwill first, then headed for the nearest discount store for anything she couldn't get for King there or didn't want to buy used. Both places were ideal for what she needed: cheap and cheerful, and paying cash didn't attract any attention. She paid a little more for his shoes, going for some mid-range cross trainers, ones with laces since they'd be more likely to fit. They were the footwear of choice for her team: sturdy, with good grip, but comfortable and not likely to come off in a fight.

King certainly seemed appreciative, although he was more excited by the other things she'd picked up than his new shoes, tumbling the books from the bag into his lap before picking one at random and turning it over in his hands. They'd had an eclectic collection shoved onto the old bookcase at the back of the Goodwill store and she'd picked several of the more interesting looking ones.

"I figured you might be sick of romances," she said a little awkwardly, not quite sure how to deal with the warmth of the smile he shot her.

"Thanks," he said, and the same warmth was in his voice as he read the blurb on the back of the first book. "Boy meets girl tends to a get a little old." And then he looked up at her, his eyes dancing mischievously. "Sometimes."

If he was flirting, it seemed safer not to respond and so she simply nodded at him and retreated, leaving him sorting through the pile of books. She had other supplies to deal with anyway.

When she finally finished stashing everything she'd bought and went to check in with Frank, he was firmly ensconced with Sommerfield, heads bowed together as they talked. The expression on both of their faces was serious, but when wasn't Frank's face serious these days?

She nodded to Frank when he looked up and caught her eye, intending to head straight back out to relieve one of the others watching King if Frank was busy, but he beckoned her over, the move lacking his normal peremptory edge.

She went, biting down on her curiosity.

"What's up?"

Frank rubbed his hand tiredly over his face as though by doing so he'd get rid of all of the cobwebs slowing down his thought processes. He still looked tired even without the extensive sessions with King, and the weight of everything they were trying to accomplish and the full extent of the obstacles they faced had settled even more deeply into the lines on his face.

He didn't answer her. Instead, he simply said, "Sommerfield?" and the other woman's head jerked up.

"A few of the other cells have tried out the enhanced antivirus," she said, her head turning slightly as she tried to position Abby. Abby leaned back against one of the counters, letting her heel hit the cupboard door underneath it just so that Sommerfield knew where she was. "I sent the details of it through secure channels, and today we got the results back."

"And?" Abby switched her attention between the two of them, already guessing from their expressions that whatever was coming next wasn't going to be good.

"It didn't work," Frank said succinctly, but he didn't elaborate on it, leaving Abby looking at Sommerfield, waiting for her to fill the gap.

"We're one for six, so far."

"Wait, what?" Abby rubbed at her temple, hating the other woman's need to be cryptic. "When you say one for six, do you mean only one cured? And that would be King?"

"Yes and yes."

"And the other five?"

Sommerfield pressed her lips together, a brief sign of irritation that wasn't aimed at Abby. "One died after receiving only a couple of doses of the antivirus. Four survived the antivirus - it made them sick but it didn't cure them. When it became clear that they weren't going to respond, the cells in question cut their losses and staked them." Her mouth drew down in another irritated little twitch, maybe because the loss of all of that experimental data was eating at her. "Apparently their vamps weren't quite as co-operative as King."

"So... King's pretty much all we've got?"

"So far," Sommerfield corrected. "We haven't given up hope yet - a sample of six isn't exactly clinically significant. And we have no idea why it worked on King and not on them - maybe because they were older, had been turned longer. It may even have had something to do with their underlying genetic code and how susceptible it makes them to the vampirism virus in the first place, or maybe it was down to the strain of virus they were infected with - we already know that there are a number of strains circulating as the virus has mutated over the years.

"But I'm more curious about the one who died. If the reports are to be believed, that was all down to the antivirus, not someone's itchy staking finger. So if it's not going to work as a cure, maybe it'll work as a weapon."

"Okay," Abby said slowly, drawing the word out to give her time to think. "So what now?"

"We keep testing." Sommerfield's face was set and determined. "Sooner or later, we'll figure out what's up and how to beat this fucker." Abby didn't doubt it, not with Sommerfield on the case. But there was another question eating at her, one that seemed slightly more urgent.

"And King?" she asked, directing the question at Frank this time.

He met her gaze calmly, although the corner of his mouth tensed up, a sure sign that he was irritated and trying to hide it. Or maybe it was worry she'd glimpsed, lurking underneath his stony façade.

"He hasn't outlived his usefulness yet. I'm not planning on doing anything hasty." He gave Abby a slightly jaundiced look, one had her raising her chin. "Just keep him out of my way or I might change my mind."

He turned back to Sommerfield, an obvious sign of dismissal that sent Abby on her way out of the door. When she cast a last look over her shoulder, Frank was listening to Sommerfield, who was back to expounding on something or other. Maybe it was a trick of the harsh overhead lights, but for the first time since she'd met him, he looked his age.

She couldn't rid herself of that image, turning it over and over in her mind as she worked her way through the base, eventually tracking King down in the mess hall where he was sitting at the table nursing a cup of coffee. That told her that Velasquez wasn't on duty.

In fact, no one seemed to be on duty.

When King caught her looking, he raised his wrist so that she could see the edge of the handcuffs that chained him to his chair. "I'm being good," he said solemnly before giving her a faint smile that said that if he had his way, he'd be anything but.

She studied him for a moment, ignoring his raised eyebrow. While she'd been stowing supplies, he'd shaved and changed into some of the clothes she'd picked up for him. As cheap and generic as they were - grey tee and blue jeans - he looked much better in them than he had in Frank's cast-offs, less washed out and more like she suspected he had before Danica got her fangs into him.

She hesitated for a moment, and then sat down in the seat across from him.

"How are you doing?" she asked. The words came out a little stilted.

He raised his eyebrow at her again, searching her face. "I'm fine," he said cautiously. "Human, in case that's what you were wondering. Frank decided whether he's going to kill me yet?"

She flattened her fingers against the table, staring down at her hands rather than looking at him. "I think you have a reprieve," she said, which was as far as she was willing to go. Frank couldn't object to her telling King that much.

When she looked up at him again, he was watching her, his face drawn down into a slightly puzzled frown.

"Thank you," he said, although for what she wasn't sure.

"Where is everyone?" she asked, changing the topic awkwardly. It wasn't smooth, but he leaned back in his seat, still watching her closely.

"Mick went out for some 'fresh air'," he said, the air quotes he made with his free hand leaving her in no doubt as to why Mick had stepped out. "Dex really needed the bathroom, apparently."

"So he left you behaving yourself?"

"He left me behaving myself," he agreed, a faint smile playing around the corner of his mouth. "According to Mick I'm now 'fucking boring', although whether he meant me or just babysitting me, I don't know. I'm hoping he meant the latter."

"And you?"

"Me? I'm bored out of my fucking **mind**."

She laughed; she couldn't help it, not when he plastered a jokingly offended look on his face.

"That's not a reflection on your choice of reading matter, by the way," he added hastily. "It's not that I'm not grateful, but..."

"But you're bored out of your fucking mind?" she asked, unable to resist smiling at him.

"God, **yes**."

She nodded, intending to say more when Dex barrelled through the doors, still fastening his pants, and she had no idea why the men in her life insisted on coming out of the bathroom unzipped. When he caught sight of her, he slowed down, something close to relief passing briefly across his face.

"Whistler," he said, and she nodded at him in acknowledgement.

"Do you people actually have conversations?" King asked. "Or do you just meaningfully intone your names at each other? Not that I'm criticising, you understand. I'm just curious."

Dex's mouth quirked a little at the corner; Mick might think that watching King was boring, but it appeared that Dex, at least, found him amusing in a train wreck kind of way. "King," he intoned, and it took a second for King to catch on, rolling his eyes while Abby fought down an attack of the giggles. And she never giggled.

King raised his wrist, rattling the handcuffs pointedly. "Since we're back to two of you now?" he said hopefully.

Abby watched as Dex moved around the table to unfasten him. King's attention was focused on Dex now, and it gave her the chance to examine him without him noticing.

He did look a lot better than he had - the sun obviously agreed with him, as did solid food, finally. He'd filled out a little, no longer as pale and gaunt as he'd been, and his eyes were bright, paying attention to everything that happened around him, and amused by anything that caught his attention.

He turned his head and caught her looking, raising his eyebrows at her expectantly.

"Go put some sweats on," she said, coming to a decision. "Let's see if we can't do something about making you less bored."

A look of confusion settled on King's face, his gaze switching between Abby and Dex. "What exactly are you planning to do to me?"

Dex, on the other hand, was paying very little attention to King. Instead, he met Abby's eyes, a small smile forming on his face as he figured out exactly what she had in mind. His hand, large and square fingered, slapped against King's shoulder.

"You, my man, are about to get your ass kicked."

-o-

They'd turned one of the rooms at the back into a makeshift gym when they'd first moved in. The building had been a warehouse once. They slept and ate in the office portion, but in the warehouse proper the floor was flat and clear of debris, and light streamed in from the high set windows, making it as close to ideal for a training room as they were going to get.

Dex had stocked it - the equipment wasn't top notch, but like the rest of them it was serviceable and did what it needed to do.

She started King on the treadmill, assessing his level of current fitness with an experienced eye. When he started to bitch about it, she simply turned the speed up until he didn't have the breath to complain any more.

He did better than she expected - instead of flaking, he simply gritted his teeth and kept on going, pounding away until sweat darkened the back of his t-shirt from neck to waist. When it looked like his legs were finally going to give out, she moved him onto the weights, low impact and high reps. And then she had him on the mats, doing sit-ups and leg raises until his muscles were shaking.

"Jesus," he gasped when she finally let him stop, collapsing on the mat with his arms spread out. "Are you trying to kill me?"

Mick, who'd finally rolled up to watch, snorted. "I think that's Frank, mate," he said, cigarette dangling out of one corner of his mouth, his cast grubby and with Zoë's scrawls all over it.

"Hey, Whistler?" King turned his head, squinting up at her. "Do me a favour?"

She raised an eyebrow at him, folding her arms and staring down at him.

"Flip Mick off for me, will you? I'd do it myself but I really don't think I can raise my hand."

She didn't laugh, although it was a close thing. Instead, she beckoned him to his feet, and he sighed, rolling slowly and painfully onto his side and then pushing himself up with arms that still shook. "Jesus, you really are trying to kill me."

"Not yet. But give it time." Somehow he managed to raise his hand high enough to flip her off. She ignored it. "That's it for today. Tomorrow we start the real work."

King shot her a disbelieving look, his legs buckling as Dex delivered a friendly smack on his shoulder.

"Believe her, man," Dex said. "This is only the beginning of the shit she's gonna put you through."

-o-

She didn't tell Frank what they were up to, but she didn't need to. They were a small team and keeping secrets was nearly impossible, especially with Mick around. He couldn't keep a secret to save his life.

Frank showed up on the third day, taking in the sight of them working with King with narrowed eyes, the same frown on his face that he'd been wearing since they'd brought King back to base. He didn't say anything, watching for long moments before he turned away, but if he had any objections he didn't voice them, not to Abby, although he continued to show up every couple of days to watch silently as she put King through his paces.

She told herself that as long as he wasn't telling her directly to stop, she wasn't disobeying him. But then she also told herself that this whole thing was simply to keep King occupied and out of trouble.

It was easy to lose herself in the rhythms and routines of working out, especially with a partner as responsive as King. To give him due credit, when he put his mind to something, he worked hard at it. He was steady and focused, which she hadn't expected. She'd expected more resistance and a hell of a lot more bitching, not this single-minded intensity as he pushed his body to its limits.

She upped the stakes, moving him on to the punching bags in the corner and then onto the mats, where she demonstrated kicks and twists that he couldn't quite master. It didn't stop him, though. Every time he landed on his ass, he got back up again, his jaw set determinedly, and the more often he hit the mat, the more determined he seemed to get. He never took it personally the way that some she'd trained with - especially the men - did, and on the odd occasion when he did grow angry and frustrated, it was aimed more at himself than at Abby.

The first time he actually managed to knock her off her feet, he threw his hands up into the air and let out a whoop of triumph. She took advantage of his distraction, sweeping her legs around to send him toppling backwards, so that he landed flat on his back next to her.

He was laughing as he hit the floor, and still laughing as she sat up, staring down at him, her mouth curling up in a reluctant smile.

"Not bad," she said. "But you let yourself get too caught up in the moment. You put someone down, you'd better make sure that they stay down."

He grinned up at her as he pushed himself up onto his elbows, his eyes bright with a giddy kind of joy. It lit his whole face up, and something unfamiliar and unwelcome lurched in her chest, leaving her a little breathless. She covered it by standing up and brushing herself off, avoiding his eyes as he rolled neatly to his feet.

"Again?" he asked, bouncing on the balls of his feet, the look on his face gleeful at the prospect. But before she had to say anything, she spotted Frank, leaning against the wall and watching again.

This time it seemed that he wasn't content just to watch; he gestured her over and she stepped away from King, torn between relief at putting some space between them and dread at whatever Frank wanted. She was conscious of King's eyes following her before Dex distracted him, stepping in neatly to take over.

Frank was watching King when she drew near to him, the look on his face considering. "How's he doing?"

"Not bad." It should have been a nice, safe topic of conversation, but you never knew with Frank, who played his cards far too close to his chest.

He nodded. "You doing all of his training?" She nodded, swallowing when Frank switched his attention from King to her, his gaze piercing and hawk-keen. "You think that's a good idea?"

"You don't think it's a good idea to keep him busy?"

"That's not what I asked, Whistler." He'd switched his attention back to King, and she stared at his profile, trying to read him and failing.

"I don't see anyone else stepping in," she said, and it was difficult to keep the defensiveness out of her voice.

He didn't miss it, turning his head to give her another one of those looks, the ones that always made her feel like he could see straight inside her, dig out everything that she was trying to hide in all of those hidden nooks and crannies that never saw the light of day.

She looked at King instead; it was easier, even given the way that King kept glancing at them, his worry slipping around the edges of the unconcerned mask he'd plastered on his face. If she could see it, she doubted that Frank would miss it, but for now Frank seemed more interested in her.

"I wasn't asking that either, Whistler."

"So what were you asking?" There was no hiding the defensiveness this time, and she moderated her tone, keeping it even when he looked at her again, more sharply. "You've lost me."

Frank turned to face her full on, not seeming to care that King was watching them closely now, paying very little attention to the moves that Dex was trying to demonstrate.

"He's male and he's got, what? Eight inches on you? And maybe sixty, seventy pounds?"

It was a good job King wasn't close enough to hear. There was no way in hell he'd pass up the chance to comment on the eight inches remark, and Frank wouldn't be amused by it.

"Are you saying I can't take him?" She bit back on anything else, not bothering to hide her irritation. She knew that Frank Reilly could be a scary bastard when the situation called for it, but then so could she.

Frank snorted. "I'm saying you've got a different build, Whistler. You're female; your centre of gravity is lower." He reached out and poked her in the chest, hitting her breastbone hard enough to rock her on her feet. As she took an inadvertent step back, steadying herself again, she caught sight of King out of the corner of her eye taking a step towards them before Dex grabbed his arm to stop him.

Frank ignored them, leaning in towards her. "You're smaller and faster. And you're sneaky. You try and teach him how you fight, he's going to struggle. Maybe he'll actually pick it up, turn it into something he can use, but it's not going to be the best or most efficient way for him."

He was right. She should have seen it before, but she didn't have to tell Frank that she got it now. He saw it in her eyes and nodded a little, turning back to King.

King was still watching them, a frown crinkling his brow and the look his eyes flat and hard. Dex was still trying to get him to focus, but the attention King was paying him was desultory at best.

"What sports did you play?"

It took King a second to realise that Frank was talking to him, or maybe it just took a second for him to decide whether or not to answer the question. "Soccer," he said eventually. "Hockey. Lacrosse. A little basketball." He paused for a second and then added, "Curling." She wasn't sure whether that was supposed to be a joke or not, but from the way that Frank's lips thinned, he wasn't amused.

"You ever box?" Frank asked, and his tone made it clear that he expected a straight answer.

King shook his head mutely, casting a quick look in Abby's direction, maybe - as stupid as it seemed on the surface - for reassurance.

"I asked you, not Whistler." The words cracked out like a whip, and King jerked his attention back to Frank, his eyes wary.

"No, I've never boxed."

Frank nodded, like he hadn't expected any other answer. "You know how to throw a punch?"

"I've thrown one or two," King admitted cautiously.

"And Whistler's had you using the bags, right?"

King nodded.

"But do you know how to take a punch?"

The animation drained from King's face, leaving behind something ice smooth and opaque behind. "I've taken one or two," he said, and his tone was dry.

Frank nodded again. His eyes weren't exactly sympathetic, but they weren't as icy as they had been. "Danica, right?" he asked, and King nodded fractionally.

"Girl has a temper," King said, and the words were light, airy, like he was simply discussing what colour clothes she liked to wear or how she did her hair. Only the guarded look in his eyes said different.

Frank limited himself to a simple, "Vampires tend to." He stared at King for a moment before appearing to make a decision. "Put your fists up," he said, taking a step forward.

King took an instinctive step back, and she didn't miss the distrustful look that blossomed across his face.

Frank stopped, his expression not giving anything away. He was used to his orders being followed by the people under his command, and whether Frank liked it or not, King was easing his way into that position. "Hands up," he said and although his voice was quiet, it carried a lot of power.

King's hands came up, curling loosely into half-hearted fists. He was still watching Frank, judging his reactions, trying to get a bead on him and not having much success. When Frank lunged forward, King jerked back again, his face flushed. But his fists came up, even though his positioning was off.

Frank walked around him, assessing and cataloguing as always. King's muscles tensed with every step Frank took, his shoulders hunching when Frank moved out of his line of vision, almost as though he was anticipating a blow and trying to ready himself for it.

Abby folded her arms and watched them. She was familiar enough by now with Frank's methods to know that King wasn't in any serious danger. Not yet.

"Your stance isn't bad," Frank admitted, moving around to face King again. He reached up and shoved King in the chest, hard with the flat of his hand - harder than he had Abby, but King had distributed his weight between his legs, one offset from the other, so that while he swayed backwards, he didn't stumble, all of the work that Abby had already done with him paying off that much at least.

Frank nodded to himself again, and if it wasn't quite approving, it wasn't disapproving either. "Could be better, but it'll do.

"Now, bring your hands up and into your chest. No, like this." He reached out and jerked King's arms to where he wanted them. "You're leaving yourself open. Too damned easy to get over or under them." He demonstrated, sliding his fist neatly underneath King's arms and smacking it into King's stomach. It wasn't as hard as it could have been because he pulled it at the last minute but King still dropped his guard, one hand coming to press against the place Frank had hit. But as soon as Frank stepped closer, King pulled back hands back up, curling them into fists again to block him.

Frank nodded, and this time it was approving, a small smile gracing his lips.

"Better," he said. "You've got the reach, but you need to keep your fists in when you're not using them. Jab and pull back, but don't lock your elbow. You need to be able to absorb the impact without damaging your joints."

The wary look had faded from King's face. His eyes were focused on Frank's, that same single-minded intensity in them as when he trained with Abby.

"Jab," Frank said, and King did, a quick back and forth that ended up with him guarding his body again, his eyes still watching Frank.

He was taking this seriously, thank God. No smart ass remarks and no jokes.

"Like this." Frank demonstrated with a quick one-two that was all coiled power.

King repeated the move, sloppily. But then, before Frank could comment, he did it again, a little more smoothly, his eyes flying to Frank's face to check his reaction.

"Okay," Frank said, taking a step back and looking King up and down again. Dex was doing the same, his gaze less assessing than Frank's, more approving. Mick had drifted in as well, and he'd settled against the wall, his foot braced against it and his expression disgruntled as he watched. "It's a start, but you need to work on it. Now, listen up..."

King's hands lowered as he listened intently, not interrupting.

"You're going to get hit. No matter how good you are at throwing punches, someone's going to get past whatever defences you throw up, and you need to roll with it." Frank snapped out his fist, aiming for the right side of King's face. He missed, but only because King's head snapped to the side, Frank's fist grazing his ear. "Like that. Momentum. If you move in the direction that the blow's travelling, it doesn't hit as hard."

"Simple physics," said King, but it wasn't mocking, more as though he was simply reiterating what Frank had said and letting Frank know he was paying attention. His dark eyes were fixed on Frank's face, serious and focused.

"Yeah. And no one fights by the Marquis of Queensbury's rules. More likely than not, your opponent will be trying to kill you. So they'll use knives, guns, even their goddamned teeth if they think it will help, and in some cases that's the worst." He didn't need to tell King that, but for once King's self-preservation instincts had kicked in and he didn't point it out. "They won't play fair, got it?"

King nodded, the tension in his frame easing as Frank lowered his hands. Frank waited until he'd relaxed and then twisted, sweeping his leg out to knock King off his feet.

King landed on the mat, hard, but this time he wasn't laughing when he pushed himself up onto his elbows.

"That means you expect the unexpected. Don't think that because your build is more suited to boxing that the shit that Whistler taught you can just be forgotten. Got that, too?" King nodded, sensibly keeping silent. "Good."

He reached down to help King to his feet, and Abby winced, knowing what was coming next.

King was halfway up when Frank aimed his fist at his face the second time, and this time he didn't miss, the blow glancing off King's cheek and splitting the skin.

King fell to the mat again, and this time when he looked up at Frank there was anger smouldering in his dark eyes.

"They won't play fair," Frank repeated. "And they won't play nice." He offered King his hand again, but King didn't take it, tilting his head and giving Frank a look that spoke volumes. Frank treated him to a little half-smile, no amusement in it, just a kind of bitter satisfaction. "You can't trust **anyone** , King. Anyone could kick you in the teeth when you're down, and a hell of a lot of bastards will enjoy doing just that. You need to get that, too."

He stepped away, turning towards Abby as he did so. Thankfully King had the sense not to aim the kick at Frank's ass he was obviously considering.

"Keep working with him," Frank said, casting a look back to where King was still spread-eagled on the mat, his fingers wiping the blood away from his face. "And teach him how to shoot straight."

With that as his parting shot, he stalked out.

Dex ambled towards King. "Need a hand?" he asked, matching his words with an offer.

King didn't take it, giving Dex a look instead that clearly said he wasn't falling for the same trick twice and Dex was an idiot if he thought he would. Dex let out a deep chuckle, stepping back with a smile as King's fingers continued to gently explore the tender spot on his cheekbone. "Suit yourself, man."

"We'd better get Velasquez to check that out," Abby said quietly. When she offered King her hand, he took it, letting her pull him to his feet.


	6. Chapter 6

Velasquez was busy in Sommer's lab, although there was no sign of the other woman. She was probably with Zoë, given the time of day. When Velasquez heard them she straightened up from the microscope she'd been looking through, giving a low whistle when she caught sight of King's face.

"What happened?" she asked as she pulled on a pair of gloves, reaching for the antiseptic wipes.

"Frank decided to teach me to box."

"Let me guess," she said, gesturing King back towards the examining table he'd spent days strapped down to. He only hesitated for a moment before he pushed himself up onto it. "He waited until you thought it was over and then punched you in the face." She probed gently at the cut, ignoring King's wince.

"Mick been talking?"

"No." She seemed satisfied, opening one of the wipes to clean away the worst of the blood. King hissed as the antiseptic burned. "He does that to everyone first time out. Some big lesson about watching your back or some shit." She caught hold of King's chin, tilting his face so that she could get a better look. "Well, everyone but Abigail, anyway. You're lucky. This isn't going to need stitches, but it's probably going to scar."

"I hear chicks dig scars," he said. "Why not Abigail?"

Velasquez didn't answer, instead simply turning to look at Abigail, raising her eyebrows at her.

"Frank didn't train me," Abby explained quietly, not willing to elaborate. It was something else that set her apart from the rest of the team. Just like not losing anyone she'd cared for to the vamps, not going through the same shit with Frank that they had put her in the position of being not quite one of them, for all that they tolerated and, to some extent, respected her.

She expected King to ask, but he simply nodded. "Whistler," he said. "I wondered."

"He's my father," she explained, knowing what he meant. Even King, with as little as Danica had let him know, would have heard of Blade's Whistler.

"Yep," said Velasquez, busying herself with applying butterfly bandages across King's cut to pull the skin together. "The rest of us might have been drafted in, but for Abby this is by way of being the family business."

Abby shifted uncomfortably, never liking when the conversation turned to this.

"Okay," said Velasquez briskly. "You're done." She took a step back, eyeing King thoughtfully. "Get him some ice, Abby. It will help with the swelling. Now, the pair of you get out of my hair. Some of us have got work to do."

King jumped down from the table, and if he was a little clumsy about it, she was willing to put that down to the fact that he was worn out, achy and sore, not the blow to his head. He had a hard head. She'd figured that much out already.

"Thanks, Velasquez," he said, seeming perfectly happy to let Abby lead the way.

She took him through to the mess, sitting him down at the table while she wrapped ice in a small plastic bag and handed it to him to press against his face. And since she was at the refrigerator anyway, she fished out a couple of sodas and handed one to him.

"So, your dad works with Blade?" It wasn't the opening gambit she'd expected, but she should have anticipated that King would pick up on it and not let it go.

"Yes," she said, her tone leaving no doubt that she didn't welcome the conversation.

King nodded, his expression thoughtful as he pulled the tab. "Hell of a thing to have to live up to," he said. "My dad was a lawyer. Kind of expected me to join the family business, you know. Still, he had Alex and Julius to pick up that slack."

It gave her the opening to ask something that she'd been puzzling over, a thought that had been niggling in the back of her brain. "Not Hephaestion, then?"

He blinked at her, a little nonplussed, and then his face cleared. "Alexander Hephaestion," he clarified. "Julius Montgomery. And then, last and most definitely least -"

"Hannibal Joseph," she said quietly and he smiled.

"You've done your homework."

"Hedges did." He took a swig from his can while she watched him, her mind ticking over. She had to admit that she'd wondered just how much of what he'd told her in Danica's dungeon had been fabrication to deflect her. It was a relief to know that some of it, at least, had been true. "You didn't go to law school then?" she asked when he paused to look at her, more to cover herself than anything else.

"No." He tapped his thumbnail against the side of the can, not wanting to elaborate. "It was a long time ago."

That was as obvious a 'do not cross' flag as King ever flew - she'd picked that much up from Frank's never-ending interrogations. He got evasive, he got jokey and he made sarcastic comments. He just didn't come straight out and say 'I'm not going to talk about it'.

For once she was willing to respect it. It was nice, sitting here quietly without King's motor-mouth going, throwing up smokescreens to hide behind. She seldom got the time to just talk to the rest of her team when it didn't involve tactics or debriefing or, more recently, King himself.

"Mind if I ask a question?" King was watching her again, seemingly at ease, but the grip he had on his can was so tight that it was dimpling the thin metal. "I won't be offended if you say no."

She thought about it for a moment and then said, "Ask. If I don't like the question, you won't like the answer."

His mouth twitched in a smile. "I thought the reason the Whistler was with Blade is because..."

"Vampires killed his family? They did. I was born later, out of wedlock."

"Out of wedlock. That's a very old-fashioned way of putting it."

Abby shrugged, not looking at him. "Mom's family were kind of old-fashioned."

He weighed this up. She thought that he'd keep pushing it, but once again he surprised her. "Is that why you got into this? The whole 'vampire hunter' shtick?"

For a second she paused, not quite understanding how it linked into her previous remark. But then King did have a habit of leaping from conversation to conversation. "My dad, you mean? I guess."

"And everyone else?"

She hesitated; the stories weren't really hers to tell, but she knew King well enough by now to know that he wasn't likely to let it drop. Better that it come from her than he decided to go asking.

"Most people," she began slowly, "they don't even know vampires exist until their lives have been fucked up in one way or another. It's like... they're not real until they're in your face and you can't deny it any longer."

He was nodding, staring down at his can rather than looking at her, but he was listening and that was pretty much all she could ask for.

"That's what it's like for the others," she continued quietly. "They were just living their lives, getting on with it paycheck to paycheck, when all of a sudden..."

"Vampires," he said, and his eyes were distant, as though he was remembering.

"Yeah." She hesitated again, taking a sip from her own can to cover it before she decided that since she'd already begun, she might as well finish.

"Sommerfield lost her husband," she explained. King looked up, suddenly paying attention and being obvious about it. "He was a doctor, like her. A pathologist, only one night he started cutting up someone who wasn't quite dead. Dex was a cop. His partner turned out to be a familiar, and when Dex wasn't interested in being another one of their lackeys on the inside, they decided he'd be better off dead. They killed two of his colleagues, but Dex made it away. So they framed him for it." She shrugged. "Cops are still looking for him in connection with the murders.

"Mick... They killed his brother. Velasquez lost her partner. You know she was an EMT, right?"

King nodded, his eyes fixed seriously on her face. "And Frank?"

She paused, taking in a deep breath. "They killed Frank's family. His wife, two kids. The eldest was six."

King looked away, the metal of his can pinging as his grip tightened on it, things obviously falling into place for him. "But you knew they were real all along, didn't you? Vampires?"

"Yeah." There didn't appear to be any point in denying it. "I grew up knowing vampires were real, that they weren't just stories and fairytales. Mom didn't want me to know, but my dad... He's never really been one for that whole idea that ignorance is bliss."

"That's got to have been tough."

She shrugged, avoiding his eyes, uncomfortable with the idea that she needed sympathy. "Different kinds of tough," she said. And then, because she was a lot more comfortable when he was the subject of the conversation, "You still haven't told me what you studied."

He smiled, small but genuine. "No, I haven't." He watched her for a long moment, his eyes searching her face in a way that left her feeling even more uncomfortable. "Different kinds of tough," he repeated, his tone musing. "So was Velasquez right? Is this the family business for you?"

She shifted in the seat, but he obviously wasn't going to shut up about it. "My dad wanted me to have a normal life, but..."

"But when you know that vampires aren't the stuff of stories and legends, this is a normal life," he completed softly. He wasn't wrong enough to correct.

"What about you?" she asked instead, turning the conversation back to him. "Think you could go back to having a normal life?"

"You mean if Frank lets me?" He paused for a moment, as though thinking about it. And then he shrugged. "I know that vampires aren't the stuff of stories and legends," he said. "I've got nothing to go back to Canada for. Can't really roll up on my brothers' doorsteps and say, hey guys, I'm the reason Mom and Dad are dead." The muscle in his jaw tightened again, a brief moment of grief that he let go. "Not to mention, it's going to be difficult to explain exactly where I spent the last five years." He shrugged again, and this time there was a helpless, lost edge to it. "I'm pretty sure they wouldn't get the whole vampire sex slave thing."

He flashed her a smile, too bright and cheerful to be real, but the conversation was making her uncomfortable again, confirming some things that up until now she'd only suspected. She got, on some level, why he needed to joke about it, but that didn't mean she liked to listen. She took another drink and his smile slowly faded, leaving something quieter and sadder behind.

When she looked back at him, he was still watching her and the unexpected warmth in his eyes had her shifting awkwardly, playing with the tab on her can so that she didn't have to look at him. She had no idea why he had to look at her like that, or what he thought he saw in her.

"Can I ask you another question? Since, you know, you seem to be in the sharing mood."

She nodded tersely, bracing herself for what was going to come, but knowing it was pointless. King seemed to enjoy confounding her expectations.

"Do you think that Frank will let me stay?" he asked, cutting straight to the chase. "Honestly?"

She stared out of the window, gathering her thoughts. "Probably. He's got nothing to gain now by killing you."

"Okay. That's... honest. A little more brutal than I was hoping for, but definitely honest."

"You did ask me to be honest," she said, trying not to be defensive about it. She was too used to speaking her mind instead of tiptoeing around things, that was the problem. "And I figured you could take it."

He gave her a wounded little pout, but there was no real hurt behind it. His eyes were crinkling at the corners, the way they did when he was amused by something and trying not to let it show.

She wasn't him - she couldn't make a joke about the things that were important. With King, it seemed that the more important something was, the more likely he was to wisecrack about it.

"He wants us to teach you how to shoot, remember?" she added, because maybe that would sound a little better. "I'm pretty sure that he wouldn't have decided that if, you know..."

"He was planning to put a bullet in my brain?" The tone was still bright and she couldn't help but feel like he was mocking her, even if it was subtle. But then he hesitated, the wounded look fading from his face to be replaced by something a little more genuine. "I get the feeling that the only reason I'm still breathing is because of you. So thank you."

She met his eyes awkwardly, still not sure what to say and thrown, once again, by his sudden switch in moods. In the end she settled on a simple, slightly stilted, "You're welcome."

He smiled at her again, slow and strangely sweet, as he leaned in closer. "And since we're in a sharing mood, I think you should know that I kind of have an inappropriate level of hero worship for you going on."

She blinked at him, and he pulled a face, an apologetic little twitch that wasn't reflected in his eyes, which stayed bright and merry.

"Well, you do keep saving my life. I think it's understandable under the circumstances."

She refused to take him at face value. "Hero worship?" she asked, amusement finally colouring her voice. "Really?"

He made a little humming sound of agreement, his eyes crinkling at the corners again.

"I should have known your eyes would turn out to be brown. You are so full of it."

He laughed, one of those rich, full ones that shook his body. "I'm hurt," he said, putting his hand on his chest. "No, really. Wounded deep in my soul."

She rolled her eyes, the corners of her mouth turning up reluctantly.

"Still full of it," she said, and his face softened slightly, his expression leaving her with that uncomfortable tight feeling in her chest.

She stared at him for a long moment, suddenly unable to think of anything to say. He leaned in towards her again, and her heart tripped a beat, but before he could say anything else, Mick came bursting through the door, a scowl settled firmly on his face.

He came to an abrupt halt when he caught sight of the pair of them, his scowl settling into something more suspicious. And then he shook his head, eyeing the pair of them like he'd just scraped them off his shoe.

"Either of you fuckers going to help me cook dinner, then?" he challenged. "Don't know why it has to be my turn again anyway when I've only got one good arm."

King blinked at him. "Don't look at me," he said. "Ramen noodles is about my level of competence."

Abby slapped him on the shoulder. "So apparently there's something else we have to teach you," she said, grinning at the look he gave her.

Mick wasn't the best cook in the world, but he cooked fast and he cooked food that was at least edible, if heavy on the grease. And leaving King to his tender mercies for a while would give her time to think.

-o-

Things were a little awkward between them for the next few days, at least on Abby's side. Whatever things lingered unsaid between them, they didn't seem to bother King, or if they did, he didn't say anything about it. Which was odd given that King seldom shut up about anything. She could have avoided him if she'd wanted to, even given how small their base was, but she wasn't sure that she did.

If it was just sex, they could get it out of their systems. She wasn't averse to a casual fuck every now and then, but King...

King was complicated, and messy.

At least she had something to take her mind off it. Frank had them back to running ops, although these days he seldom came with them, letting Dex and Abby run them on their own with Mick and Velasquez running backup. Frank had his own irons in the fire, and again he wasn't sharing. He seemed to spend a lot of time working their contacts, sourcing weapons and intel. Silver didn't come cheap, but garlic only put a vamp down temporarily, and with the vamps' ranks swelling day by day, they went for the permanent solution each and every time.

Abby had stopped worrying about what he was up to. Frank knew what he was doing and she'd just have to trust in that, and trust him. Instead, she spent her free time training King, although she wasn't left to deal with him on her own. When it came to firearms, Dex was the go-to guy. He'd had fifteen years on the force and it showed when it came to sharp shooting. By the time that Dex was through with King, King was hitting the target nine times out of every ten, even if he did hold his weapon like a cop.

That wasn't necessarily a bad thing; it wouldn't be the first time the team had to pretend to be someone they weren't.

Mick was a brawler, small, scrappy, and vicious even with one arm out of commission. King learned a thing or two from him, as well, even if he did tend to come away from their sessions battered and a little bloody. And Velasquez had her own twists and turns, kicks and tricks. Between the three of them, King started to cobble together a style all of his own. He was a magpie like that, if a lot less flashy than she'd expected.

But it was Abby that King paid the most attention to, both on the mats and off them.

And Abby wasn't the only one who noticed.

-o-

"You sure you know what you're doing?"

She'd been too focused on watching King shoot, and hadn't heard her father approach, especially as she hadn't been expecting to see him. She pushed her earmuffs off her head, knowing that he hadn't missed her surprise.

He didn't call her on her inattention, simply looking her up and down and coming to his own conclusions, ones he didn't share.

"Is this going to be another 'this isn't the life I wanted for you, Abby' conversation?" she asked, moderating her tone so that she hid her irritation. It must have been six months or more since she'd last laid eyes on him, and she didn't want to waste any time fighting, not when it was simply rehashing old arguments.

King fired again, the sound echoing around the range. When she glanced over at him, his eyes were narrowed, all of his focus on his target. Dex was hovering nearby, nodding approvingly, so she nodded her head towards the exit and waited for her father to precede her.

He stopped just outside the doorway, waiting until she'd shut the heavy steel doors before saying, "You look good, girl."

He, on the other hand, looked tired, dark shadows under his eyes and lines in his face that hadn't been there the last time she'd seen him.

"You okay?" she asked, even though she knew he wasn't likely to answer her, at least not in the negative.

He didn't disappoint her. "I'm more worried about you, Abby."

She folded her arms, meeting his eyes calmly over the top of them. "I'm fine," she said evenly.

He nodded, his eyes never leaving her face. "So do you? Know what you're doing? And no, I'm not talking about this life."

"Then what are you talking about?"

His face scrunched up, a sure sign that he had no patience with any games on her part, not today or any other day, come to that. "I'm talking about taking on board an ex-vamp. Are you following me now?"

"Frank signed off on it."

"Way I hear it, you didn't leave him much choice."

"That right? Anyone would think that Frank wasn't the one who made all the decisions around here."

This time when his face scrunched up it was because he was trying not to laugh. "Honey, you're a handful, I'll give you that." And then he paused for a moment, looking her over again. The look on his face was weird, almost wistful. "You get more like your mother every day," he said, and his tone was nostalgic. "She gave me hell, too."

"I'm not doing this to give you hell," she said softly.

"Then why are you doing this?"

"Because it's the right thing to do."

He chuckled darkly. "You sure about that?"

She was saved from answering when the door handle jerked in her hand. She stepped back, moving out of the way as King emerged, Dex on his heels.

Dex took one look at her father and made the smart move, bugging out of there with a nod to Whistler. King, on the other hand, had nowhere near the same survival instinct.

They probably needed to work on that.

He stopped short, eyeing her father warily. It was only when he glanced at her, confused, that it dawned on Abby that Abraham Whistler was the first person outside of her team that King had seen for months.

"You must be King." Trust her father to state the obvious.

King's expression grew even warier. "And you would be?"

Her father stuck out his hand and King took it automatically. "Abraham Whistler."

At the name, King shot another look at Abigail, his expression suddenly keenly interested. "So you'd be...?"

"Abigail's father, yes." Whistler's eyes were steady and his grip firm. There was no missing that he was assessing King. King certainly didn't miss it. Once her father had let go of his hand, King leaned against the wall, folding his arms and looking like he was settling in for a nice, cosy chat. His eyes, however, were astute and just as assessing as her father's.

If they were going to start a pissing contest, she was going to kick both of their asses.

King fired the first salvo, of course. "I was going to say Blade's Whistler, actually." He treated Whistler to a smile that had far too many teeth and far too little amusement for Abby's peace of mind.

Whistler didn't return it, although the line of his mouth tensed fractionally. "You've heard of Blade?"

" **Everyone** has heard of Blade. Guy's a legend. He's about the only thing that had Danica running scared."

"Danica being?"

"Queen bitch, among her many, many other titles."

Whistler studied King for a long moment, taking in the insouciant pose, the raised eyebrow and King's general 'fuck you' attitude. "She turned you."

"Oh, she did more than that." There was a flash of something through King's eyes, and Whistler didn't miss it any more than Abby did.

Whistler nodded slowly, never taking his eyes off King. "Reilly said."

"Oh, I'm sure he did." King's eyebrows drew down in a frown for a second before he asked, "What exactly did Frank say?"

Whistler's mouth tensed again, but Abby suspected that it was more suppressed amusement than irritation this time.

"Enough."

"Ah." King actually looked chagrined for a moment. "That much?"

"All bad," Whistler added, obviously unable to resist the chance to mess with King. It seemed to be a common theme for most people who'd met him.

King nodded seriously. "I can see that. Can't say I didn't expect it."

The amusement reached Whistler's eyes. "You don't really care, do you, son?"

"Not really, no."

Whistler snorted and even that sounded amused. "You better go find Frank," he said. "Let me speak to my daughter in peace."

King cast a quick look in Abby's direction, almost as if he was checking with her that it was okay to leave her, and then he nodded at Whistler, heading off in the direction that Dex had taken. He couldn't seem to resist a last look over his shoulder before he disappeared around the corner.

Abby watched him go, waiting until he was out of sight and out of hearing before she turned back to her father.

He was watching her, something sad in his expression. She was used to it, although she'd never figured out whether his melancholy was down to the fact that she reminded him of the daughters he'd lost or whether it was just because he regretted never being there for her. One thing she had figured out pretty early was that she didn't much care which it was.

"I like him," said Whistler, and Abby snapped her head up, examining his face for any sign of sarcasm. "He doesn't take any shit."

Perversely, her father's praise of King simply made her irritable. "He dishes out enough," she said.

Whistler snorted again, his eyes searching her face. He was good at reading people, and too good at reading her. "I'm sure you can handle it, Abby."

There was something in his tone the caught her attention and she stared at him for a long moment. "You're leaving again," she said, swallowing down her bitterness so that it wouldn't show. She should have expected that he'd leave as quickly as he'd arrived because he was good at it. He'd done it before she was even born, and he'd been doing it ever since.

"Abby..."

"It's fine," she snapped. "I'm sure Frank will pass on any intel you give him that he thinks we ought to know."

For a second it actually looked as though he was going to argue, but then the animation faded from his face, leaving a familiar blank mask behind. "Take care of yourself, Abby. You know how to reach me if you need me."

The sharp, bitter words were on the tip of her tongue, but telling him she didn't need him, that she never had, was a child's complaint, and he'd never really known the child she'd been.

"Yes," she said, her voice emotionless. "I do."

He nodded at her again, hesitating for a moment before he finally turned on his heel and headed towards Frank's office. His limp was more pronounced than ever and a momentary regret twisted in her stomach, not helped when he turned back, staring at her as though he was memorising her face before saying, "Take care of yourself, Abby."

She nodded, but he didn't see it because he was already gone.

She headed to the gym, where there was a punching bag there with her name on it.

She lost herself in the rhythm of it: the kicks, the jabs, the punches. She kept working until her muscles trembled with fatigue, the sweat soaking her top and dripping into her eyes, stinging and burning.

She'd just delivered a roundhouse kick that had the bag swinging on its chain when King stepped up behind it and caught it, steadying it between his hands. He peered around it, a small, concerned frown creasing his brow.

"You okay?" he asked, and there was concern in his voice as well as on his face.

"I'm fine," she snapped, but he wasn't stupid and he wasn't unobservant, no matter what he liked to pretend sometimes.

"Okay," he drawled. The frown he wore smoothed out, but she wasn't stupid either. She knew him well enough by now to know that he'd only hidden his concern, not let go of it entirely. "I take it you don't want to talk about it, either?"

"No." She aimed another punch at the bag, hitting it with such force that it rocked King back a step. If it had been anyone else that would have been enough to get the message through, but this was King. Even punching him directly wouldn't have been enough for that. He simply stepped forward, bracing the bag against his body.

"Let me know if you change your mind," he said. And then he tilted his head, his eyes tracking over her face. "So that was your dad?"

She paused, fists up and ready. "Drop it."

"Drop what?" His face was a picture of innocence.

"You know what."

"Do I?" He gave her a slow smile, mischief clear in his eyes. "Maybe we should talk about it, make sure I'm clear."

With anyone else, she would have been seriously pissed, but King had a way of easing past her defences, damn him. "You have no shame, do you?"

"No. I had any sense of shame beaten out of me years ago. You wouldn't believe the kinds of things I'm completely unashamed about."

She laughed in spite of herself. He was completely ridiculous sometimes, especially now that he was waggling his eyebrows at her, inviting her to share in a joke that, under the surface, was anything but funny.

"Yes," she said, because with King it was easier to answer the questions when he first asked them. Persistent didn't even begin to cover it. "That was my father. He's the one who found Blade, he's the one who trained him. Is that what you wanted to know?"

He gave her a searching look, one that was too keen for her peace of mind. "Wasn't around much, huh?"

"Did you miss the part where I said I didn't want to talk about it?"

"No, I didn't miss it. Abby..." She hit the bag, a quick one-two that jerked him backwards again, her fists hitting the leather only inches from his face. "Okay, I get it. But if you ever want to work off that tension in a different way..."

She stared at him for a long moment, but he wasn't at all apologetic, giving her a slow, sly smile that left her in no doubt that she'd heard him correctly.

"You," she said slowly, repeating herself, "are completely shameless."

"Yeah. I thought we'd established that."

For a stupid, suicidal moment she was actually tempted. Her moment of weakness must have shown on her face, because his smile took on a slightly self-satisfied edge, something similar flaring in his eyes.

It brought her to her senses. For all that he was entertaining, she still didn't know anywhere near enough about the man - King had the knack of talking a lot and saying very little. It left her more wary than wanting.

"If I'm ever that desperate," she said, "I'll keep you in mind."

This time what flared through his eyes looked more like hurt than satisfaction, but he soon buried it under his normal insouciant charm.

"Suit yourself," he said and he managed to make it sound unconcerned. "Although, I just meant that if you wanted to spar, I'd be happy to help out. I'm not entirely sure what **you** meant..."

This time her glove glanced off the bag when she struck it and managed to catch him in the stomach, although by the time it hit him the momentum had dissipated and she didn't hit him anywhere near as hard as he deserved. Which had nothing to do with her pulling her punch at the last moment.

"Or not," he said, gasping breathlessly. "I can take a hint."

"No, you can't."

"No, I really can't." He grinned at her, his hand rubbing where she'd hit him. And just like that, her bad humour faded away. She shook her head at him, but she couldn't quite hold back the small smile at his antics.

He was far too good at getting past her defences, but when he slung one arm companionably around her shoulder and steered her towards the mats, she found it difficult to care.

-o-

Whatever intel her father had brought Frank, it darkened Frank's countenance for days. Even Sommerfield ended up tiptoeing around him, and Sommerfield normally didn't pay any more attention to Frank's moods than Velasquez did.

Abby wasn't stupid. She didn't miss Frank's quick looks in her direction whenever he issued an order, like he was just waiting for her to step out of line. She'd had her fill of it, even if she wasn't childish enough to complain that it was unfair. And with King more or less behaving himself these days, it wasn't as though she needed to butt heads with Frank anyway.

So she kept out of Frank's way most of the time, taking Dex out to pick off stragglers one by one rather than hitting any hard targets. It wasn't difficult to find vampires in this city - the more she fought them, the more convinced she was that they were deliberately swelling their ranks, maybe because of Blade. Whatever the reason, it kept her busy and it kept her cautious. And when she wasn't in the field, she was with King. And that meant she was usually with Zoë, too.

Zoë had taken a shine to King. Sometimes when Abby came back from the hunt early enough for Zoë still to be up, or late enough for breakfast to already be on the table, she found the pair of them huddled together, sheets of paper spread out in front of them. King wasn't a bad artist. Not a brilliant one, but good enough that she could tell what he was trying to draw.

"Draw me a unicorn," Zoë was saying one afternoon as she walked into the mess.

"What's the magic word?" King asked.

"Now?"

Abby swallowed a smile. "The word is 'please', Zoë," she chided gently.

"Oh. Draw me a unicorn, **please**?"

"I don't know how to draw unicorns," King said, looking up from his piece of paper to give Abby a smile, one that was warm and wide. There was charcoal smudged on his cheek, and as she walked past him, heading towards the coffee pot, she couldn't resist reaching out and wiping it away with her thumb.

"Yes, you do," insisted Zoë. "You drew one yesterday."

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did. I **saw** it."

King's brow crinkled. "Are you sure it was a unicorn?"

"Yes."

"Are you absolutely positive?"

"Yes!" Zoë started to paw through the pieces of paper on the table, producing one smudged sheet with a triumphant flourish. "There, see?"

"Ah," King said, glancing up to meet Abby's eyes again, his own dancing. "That's not actually a unicorn. That's just a horse with a horn."

Zoë gave him a look far older than her years. "You're silly," she said, making it sound like a pronouncement from on high.

"Well, I can't really argue with that one."

Abby couldn't either, but before she could do more than smile, Frank appeared in the doorway, summoning her with a jerk of his head. "You too, King," he added when King turned his attention back to sketching for Zoë.

King's eyes flew up to Frank's face, searching his expression for any hint of what was coming. When he didn't find anything, he looked at Abby, but she was none the wiser either. She gave him a little shrug, and he pushed his chair back from the table, following her as she hurried to catch up with Frank.

"Okay, listen up," Frank said once they'd arrived at Sommerfield's lab, where the others were waiting. Sommerfield didn't seem particularly happy about it or the number of people crowding her lab, which was understandable. "We've got some interesting intel on a blood donation facility in the lower east of the city. Not a good area - high deprivation, lots of drug users, some gang activity - and some of the local homeless have gone missing."

Mick frowned. "And we're sure that vamps are behind it?"

Frank fixed him with a steely-eyed look, obviously still pissed with Mick for his recent sloppiness. "We're not sure of anything yet, Mick. That's why we're running a reconnaissance mission." His tone was patronising, and Mick flushed.

King was nodding, his expression thoughtful. "It makes sense. Vamps don't need to worry about blood-borne diseases, and I can't imagine a legit facility targeting drug users."

"Danica ever pull something like this?"

King shook his head. "Not that I know of. She likes to think of herself as being a bit more upmarket than that," he said. "But I've heard of other clans doing it. You've got the regular donations anyway, and if you're still hungry, you've got an all-you-can-eat buffet walking in off the street."

"So what's the plan?" Velasquez asked. "We check it out, and if it turns out to be vamp, we burn it?"

Frank nodded. "Sommerfield and Hedges have something else to do. The rest of you don't need to know the details, not yet." He turned to Sommerfield. "Take Zoë with you," he said. When Sommerfield looked as though she was going to protest, he bit out, "I'm leaving King and Mick here. You want them to babysit? Really?"

"I don't mind," said King mildly.

"I fucking do," interrupted Mick. He met Frank's glare with one of his own, his chin stubbornly raised.

Frank didn't call him on it, not this time. He simply held Mick's glare until the other man dropped his eyes. And then he turned to Sommerfield again, dismissing Mick from his thoughts as though the Englishman didn't exist. "Take Zoë," he repeated.

"Are the rest of us going with you?" Velasquez asked. "For a simple reconnaissance mission?"

"Yes. It should be simple, but it won't hurt to have backup."

Velasquez nodded, but there was a thoughtful look in her brown eyes. "If it's a simple job, wouldn't it be an idea to take King out this time?"

There was a sudden, hopeful air to King's silence, but Abby could almost feel him vibrating next to her. Frank, on the other hand, wasn't anywhere near as enthusiastic about Velasquez's suggestion.

"No," he said flatly.

Velasquez wasn't willing to let the matter drop. "Why not?" she asked, her jaw jutting out pugnaciously. "You said it yourself, it's a simple recon. And you're going to have to put him in the field sooner or later."

"I've made my decision, Velasquez. Now drop it."

Dex shifted, a thoughtful frown on his face. "Velasquez may have a point, man," he drawled. "He's ready."

"I'll say when he's ready." Frank's tone was steady, but it was clear that he wasn't expecting any further argument.

He was wrong.

"With all due respect, Frank," Velasquez interjected softly, "you're not the one who's been training him. That's Dex and Abby. If Dex says he's ready..."

Frank's jaw tightened as he looked straight at Abby. There was something in his eyes, something that was as close to a plea as Frank ever got, but Abby couldn't back him up this time.

"He's ready, Frank," she said.

Frank's shoulders slumped, and Abby swallowed down the guilt. Whatever Frank's reasons, whatever lingering resentment he still had about King's actions as a vampire, there was no doubt that King was as ready as he would ever get without being tempered in the field. And Velasquez, scenting victory, added the final nail in the coffin. "Can you give us one good reason why not, Frank? Just one?"

Frank stared at her for a long moment and then said, his tone defeated, "No, I can't." The look in his eyes was distant, pained, and the guilt ate at Abby. No matter how she analysed it logically, it still felt like a betrayal.

Velasquez nodded, although she was smart enough to keep the triumph off her face. "Okay," she said gently. "It's settled, then. King goes with you, and I'll stay here with Mick."

Frank's head jerked up, something strangely desolate in his expression before he hid it. "Velasquez..."

She shrugged, her normal good humour clear in her eyes. "Like you said, Frank, this one's simple. Doesn't need five of us, and Mick's cast is about ready to come off. We can do that tonight. No arguing, okay?" She smiled at him, her expression as reassuring as her voice.

Frank gave her a long, steady look, his expression bleak, like it was suddenly dawning on him that his team no longer needed him to give them orders. And then he nodded once, abruptly. "Okay," he said. "If that's the way you want to play it. We go out tonight." He turned his head and gave King a searching look, something sharp and bitter lying underneath it. "Don't mess this up."

King, for once, played it smart. He nodded and held his tongue.

"Can you look after Zoë?" Sommerfield asked, turning her head in Velasquez's general direction.

Before Velasquez could answer her, however, Frank interrupted again. "No. Take Zoë with you."

"But, Frank -"

"It's safe or I wouldn't suggest it," Frank interrupted, "and she'll provide extra cover. No one's going to suspect a couple with a kid. And Velasquez will be busy with Mick."

For a second, it looked as though Velasquez was going to argue with him about that as well, but she must have decided that discretion was the better part of valour. She'd had today's victory, so she passed on this one and Sommerfield did likewise, although Sommerfield's face was pinched and unhappy.

Frank had drawn himself up to his full height, his face carved from granite as he waited for further dissension. When none came, he dismissed them with a quick, "All right. We head out at twenty-two hundred hours. Be ready."

They drifted out of the lab, one by one, Mick grumbling as Dex shook him gently, his fingers wrapped around the nape of Mick's neck. He leaned in towards Mick, saying something, but whatever it was, Abby wasn't close enough to hear it. She hesitated, glancing back over her shoulder to where Frank sat, his hands resting on Sommerfield's desk and his head bowed. For a second Abby felt the urge to go back, but then Frank straightened up, his expression gaunt and still with that oddly desolate look in his eyes, and took the two steps necessary to reach Sommerfield's side, presumably to discuss whatever Sommerfield's mission was tonight or maybe just to put her mind at ease about Zoë. Maybe it would help, make him feel like Sommerfield still needed him, even if it didn't seem like the rest of them did anymore.

Abby left them to it, turning on her heel and following the rest of her team.

When she caught up with them, Mick and Dex were heading towards the gym. King, on the other hand, was talking to Velasquez.

"Thank you," he said as Abby drew level with them. "I could kiss you right now."

Something clenched in Abby's belly, but Velasquez merely grinned up at him. "You're so not my type," she said.

"Too tall?" he asked. His excitement and exuberance were bubbling up, shining in his eyes and setting him bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Velasquez smiled indulgently. "Too male."

"Well, I do have a history of dating lesbians..."

Velasquez smacked him companionably on the arm, flashing a grin at Abby. "You need to calm down, boy," she said mock-severely. "Or Frank won't let you out to play tonight."

"Okay, okay." There were hectic blooms of colour in King's cheeks as he turned towards Abby, but she was still feeling guilty about Frank and unsettled at her reaction towards Velasquez. She limited herself to a nod at him as she moved past, determined to ease whatever jitters were still running through her the way that she always did.

There was a target in the yard with her name on it and a bow she hadn't used in far too long.


	7. Chapter 7

It rained that afternoon, driving Abby indoors when her bowstring grew too slick to get the draw and speed she needed.

She dried her bow off carefully, checking the string for wear, and tightening and lubricating where she needed to. And then she left it for Hedges to double-check it since he had a knack for these things.

It was still raining when she headed to the top floor, where she'd laid claim to her small room. She liked it up here, where it was quiet and a little away from the rest of her team. She liked it even better on a day like this, when the rain drummed against the slate roof. It had been an office once; there was a skylight where the roof sloped down, and she watched the rain run down the pane, forming rivulets that dripped off the edge and hit the ground below.

The white noise was comforting. It let her drift, losing herself in the rumble of distant thunder. She didn't doze, not exactly, but when King knocked on her door frame it still startled her.

"Sorry, am I disturbing you?"

She stared at him for a moment and then shook her head. "No. Is everything okay?"

He gave her tight little smile. "Everything's fine."

She wasn't convinced, especially when he drifted into her room without waiting to be invited, obviously restless. She shifted sideways on her bed, actually offering an invitation this time, albeit one he was welcome to ignore. She wasn't surprised when he didn't.

"My brother's law firm has a webpage now," he said, sitting himself down on the side of the bed next to her. The words might have been random, but she could tell he was working up to something. "Hedges found it."

"Okay..."

"He's made partner. There was a picture, you know, under the 'about us' section."

She kept silent, which was always the best way to get King to open up.

"It was weird, seeing him."

She watched him for a long moment. "Were you thinking of contacting him?"

He shook his head, a wry smile playing around the corners of his mouth. "That would be kind of dumb." He shot her a look, full of self-mocking humour. "Even for me."

There was something else going on. She searched his face as he played with the chain he now wore. He hadn't been wearing it earlier, but she recognised the tiny, silver medallion on it as Velasquez's. Velasquez must have given it to him earlier for good luck, which was the kind of thing that Velasquez would do, especially given that it depicted St Jude, the patron saint of hopeless causes and that would have appealed to Velasquez's dry sense of humour.

And then it clicked.

"Are you worried about tonight?" she asked quietly.

The muscle in his cheek twitched and he cast her sidelong look, rueful and a little sheepish.

"I shouldn't be, right?"

She touched her tongue to her lips and chose her next words with care. "I think it's understandable," she said. "First time out..."

He let out a sigh, slumping back until he was propped up against her headboard. "I ran errands for Danica sometimes," he said distractedly. "Not exactly my first time out."

"No, but things are different now, aren't they?" She wasn't quite sure if she was trying to reassure him or was waiting for him to reassure her.

He gave a brief, one-shouldered shrug. "Well, I did have that whole vampire thing going on then. You know, shock-proof, fireproof, bulletproof. Except for silver bullets, obviously."

"Ability to leap tall buildings in a single bound?" she asked dryly.

He flashed her a sudden grin, seeming genuinely amused. "Something like that." And then his smile faded, his look growing distracted again. There was a small frown furrowing his brow and his thumb was back to rubbing over the scar on his opposite wrist, a rhythmic little tell that he probably wasn't even aware of. She'd already realised it was something he did when he was nervous or stressed out, and over the last few months she'd had plenty of opportunity to observe both states.

"You know it's going to be okay, right?" she asked him, rolling onto her side so that she could look at him properly. "There's no way that Frank would have agreed to let you go out if you weren't ready, no matter what we said about it."

"Yeah, I know." He didn't look reassured, staring up at the raindrops on the skylight, just as she'd been doing.

"If the rain doesn't stop, Frank may cancel it anyway." He gave her a sceptical look and she shrugged. "The rain makes everything slippery, especially when the streets are dirty. You can laugh, but believe me, if you're going in via the roof, the last thing you want is a rainy night."

He swallowed, looking even more worried as he stared up at the window again, watching the rain fall.

"I'm not going to let anything happen to you," she said quietly and he turned his head back towards her, his eyes searching her face. And then he smiled, some of the tension leaching out of his body.

"Yeah," he said softly. "I know. Inappropriate levels of hero worship, remember?"

She flushed, suddenly aware of the warmth of his body and the warmth in his eyes. "I remember," she said. It didn't come out quelling, like she wanted. It came out husky, and she swallowed, not missing the flare of heat in his eyes.

He shuffled around on the bed until he was lying on his side next to her, facing her and mirroring her position. "I like your room," he said, and there was a hint of laughter in his voice. "It's very... you."

Her room was Spartan, utilitarian, nothing really in there that said anything about her as a person. She liked it that way, or thought she had. But now that he was gently mocking her, it seemed barren and empty. She scowled and shoved him, not particularly gently, and he laughed, his face lighting up as he caught hold of her hand before she could push him away again.

"You're such a dick," she grumbled.

"Can't argue with that," he said. He still had hold of her hand, pressing it against his chest, and she could feel his heartbeat underneath her fingers, steady and sure. She should pull away; she knew that if she did, he'd let her go.

She didn't. Instead she let her fingers curl against his chest, catching in the fabric of his t-shirt.

He finally let go of her, running his fingers over the back of her hand, a feather-light touch that gave her goose bumps.

There was another roll of thunder outside, and he turned his head, staring up at the skylight again. "It's peaceful in here," he said, and she couldn't argue with that, not when she followed his gaze and watched the rain splatter against the glass, the droplets running together so that the sky blurred.

When she turned back to look at King, he was watching her, his gaze as sure and steady as his heartbeat. His fingers had been resting against the back of her hand, but now he ran them gently up her arm, and she shivered. It was like being back at high school again, only she'd never had boys in her bedroom in high school. She was the weird girl, and they were just kids as far as she was concerned: far too young and far too stupid for her.

She was beginning to suspect that she'd been missing something.

King leaned in slowly, his eyes holding hers, giving her plenty of time to move away if that was what she wanted.

She didn't.

His mouth brushed against hers, gently at first and then with more pressure as her fingers curled into his chest again. His hand came up to cup her cheek, his thumb stroking lightly over her skin.

"Okay," he breathed when he pulled back, his lips still only inches from hers. His pupils were blown wide and black, a kind of hunger in them that had nothing to do with vampirism. "I'll admit to daydreaming about this once or twice, but I've got to say I always pictured it going a little differently. For a start, I figured that by now you'd be punching me in the face."

She swallowed, too caught up in the look in his eyes to laugh. "There's still time."

"True," he said, and then he leaned in again, capturing her mouth more firmly, his lips moving slowly over hers.

This time she broke their kiss, her fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck. "This is a really bad idea," she murmured, her eyes dropping to his mouth.

"Yeah?" he asked. "'Cause I've got a million of them I want to share."

She kissed him again, King's hand sliding over her hip to pull her closer as she twisted her fingers into the fabric of his t-shirt, pushing herself into him as her tongue slid into his mouth.

He let out a ragged little gasp, his fingers clenching against her skin and easing their way further underneath her top. Shivers ran through her as his thumb stroked into the hollow of her hip bone, sliding over the black ink of her tattoo where it rose above the waistline of her pants. She pressed herself closer to him, his leg sliding between hers as his hands roamed over her skin, feather-light touches that set her aflame.

He rolled them over until she was half underneath him, her hands scrabbling greedily under the fabric of his shirt to stroke over the firm muscles of his back. When he pushed himself up, bracing himself on his forearms to stare down at her, his hair was tousled, his lips were swollen and his eyes were wide and wanting.

She followed him up, her hands slipping back into his hair to pull him down into another kiss, one that was even more heated. His mouth moved over hers, sloppy and urgent, and a surge of pure need went through her, leaving her gasping and arching against him as his fingers left trails of heat everywhere he touched.

His hand slipped under her top again, his fingers brushing against the fabric of her sports bra and driving another whimper out of her as he cupped her breast in his palm. Her nipple was already hard, and his thumb slid over it through the fabric, pressing harder as she let out another gasp, rocking into him. When he finally released her mouth, his lips skimmed over her cheek and then down to her neck, where he nibbled at the soft patch of skin under her ear, leaving her skin tingling in his wake.

He pushed her bra up impatiently, his fingers now settling on her bare skin, and the calluses on his thumb caught against the sensitive nub of her nipple. She let out a low moan, desperate for the feel of his mouth there as well, for his tongue and his lips where his fingers were circling slowly. She slid her hands up his back, her fingers slipping into his hair as she started to guide him where she wanted him.

"What are you doing?"

Zoë's voice echoed from the doorway and King froze guiltily, his hand still on Abby's breast and his eyes meeting Abby's, more than a hint of panic in them.

"Wrestling...?" he offered weakly, widening his eyes a little desperately at Abby when she gave him an exasperated look, her own heart pounding fast and furious in her chest.

"Oh." Zoë seemed to consider this for a moment as King tried to ease his hand out from underneath Abby's top without Zoë noticing. "Who's winning?"

"I... think we both were, maybe...?"

"It was a draw, Zoë," Abby said firmly, giving King another pointed look as she pushed him away, her face flushed and desire still curling low in her belly. "What do you want?"

Zoë looked at them both, her small face confused and a little disbelieving. She had Bunny clutched in one hand, the toy's ears dragging on the floor. "Mom's taking me shopping," she said. "And we're going somewhere with Hedges after." She frowned. "I don't know where," she added a little petulantly. "I wanted to say goodbye."

"Oh. Goodbye, honey," Abby said, trying to even her breathing out and rearrange her clothing without being obvious about it.

King gave Zoë a half-hearted little wave, and Zoë eyed them both seriously. "Frank wants to see you." She turned on her heel and headed off, casting a last confused look back at them as she went.

"Shit," Abby breathed, her heart still pounding.

"Okay," King said, collapsing back onto the bed, letting out an audible grunt as he hit the mattress. "I vote that for the rematch, we lock the door."

"Shit, shit, shit." She couldn't believe how stupid she'd been. "You think Zoë will say anything?"

He pushed himself up onto his elbows, giving her a look that spoke volumes. "That's what you're worried about? Not the fact that we could've traumatised a six-year-old?"

"Frank will kill us."

"Fuck Frank," he said succinctly. "Actually, strike that. I've got no intention of fucking Frank, but you, on the other hand..."

She ran her fingers through her hair, trying to smooth it back into some semblance of order. She could still feel his fingers on her skin, little sense memories that had her shivering again.

"You can joke about it," she said. "But Frank already thinks I'm in over my head. If Zoë says anything..."

"What's she going to say?" he asked impatiently. "Hannibal and Abigail were sitting in a tree? Bed? Whatever."

"I don't want him questioning my judgement," she said fiercely, and the expression slid away from King's face, leaving behind the blank mask she hadn't seen for weeks.

"And kissing the ex-vampire isn't going to do you any favours in that department," he said tonelessly.

"Kissing **anyone** isn't going to do me any favours. I don't want Frank thinking that I lose my head when the first pretty face comes along."

He lifted up one finger. "Okay, firstly, thank you for calling me pretty. I think." He lifted up a second finger. "Secondly, I'm pretty sure that celibacy wasn't mentioned in the small print when I signed up for this little outfit. If it had been, I might have seriously reconsidered my options."

"Do you have to turn everything into a joke?"

He paused in the act of holding up a third finger. "Yes, as a matter of fact I do. Look, Abby... I spent the last five years having sex when somebody else wanted to, regardless of how I felt about it. I'd like to have sex when I want to, with somebody **I** want to do it with. Somebody I actually like for a change."

That was a whole can of worms she didn't want to open; she was left with nothing to say except: "So what you're saying is that you like me. 'Like me' like me, or just like me?"

Oh, Jesus, she was turning into him, sarcasm and all.

He stared at her for a moment before realising that she was joking, teasing him the way that he frequently teased her. He rolled his eyes. "You're not funny," he said.

"Well, perhaps not compared to **you**..."

"Yes," he said slowly, his face suddenly serious. "I like you, okay? And that's... kind of a big deal for me. You have no idea how much."

She could feel the blood rising to her face again. "As in... inappropriate levels of hero worship?" she found herself asking, her voice sounding very small in spite of the fact that she'd tried to make that into a joke, too.

He shrugged, avoiding her eyes, his tracking the rain as it ran down the window. "As in... I was pretty sure I didn't want anyone else touching me ever again. So, thank you for that, at least." He paused and then, because he was King, he had to add, "Now you know why I was so concerned about losing my jerking off hand."

She pushed her hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear, equal parts uncomfortable and touched. It was difficult to find the words to say, but then she didn't need to, not when King was perfectly happy to pick up any conversational slack.

"And on that awkward note," he said, bouncing up off the bed and holding his hand out to haul her up after him. "I think Frank is looking for us."

He held onto her hand for a moment, tugging her back towards him when she started to step away. When she looked at him quizzically, he hesitated for a moment and then slid his fingers into her hair, turning her face up for another kiss.

This one was slow and lingering, and by the time he'd finished she was flushed and warm, her skin burning where his thumb brushed against it.

"I thought you said that Frank was looking for us," she said, her voice low and husky. He nodded, so close to her that his breath ghosted over her skin when he let out a low sigh.

"Later?" he murmured against her mouth and she nodded, finally pulling away.

"Later."

-o-

Frank wanted to run through that night's plans. Abby paid attention where she needed to, not letting the warmth of King's body next to her distract her. She'd grown good at compartmentalising over her time with her team, and now she shoved everything - King's scent, the way his muscles flexed underneath her hands, the way his fingers felt drifting over her skin - into a box and slammed down the lid, tight.

King didn't seem quite as good at it judging by the way he fidgeted, although that might have had more to do with nerves than with Abby. Frank noticed his distraction, but he was patient about it, pulling King to one side to go over things again as Abby went to check her bow and Dex their transport.

"You missed Zoë," Velasquez said slyly, settling against the bench and watching Frank and King. She gave Abby a little sidelong look, amusement clear on her face.

"She came to say goodbye," Abby said shortly, and Velasquez's smile deepened, her eyes bright with suppressed mirth.

"Uh huh."

There was obviously no way Abby was going to be able to fake it. She cast a quick, nervous look over at Frank, but he was still immersed in conversation with King.

"Relax," Velasquez said. "Zoë didn't say anything where Frank could hear her, and she'll have forgotten it by the time she comes back." She gave Abby a searching look. "Sommerfield, on the other hand, won't have forgotten it and I expect you'll have some explaining to do, chica." And then she grinned, slow and wicked. "Like about why you couldn't lock the damned door for a start."

Abby's face was burning and she pressed her lips tightly together, not appreciating the other woman's humour.

"Hey." Velasquez bumped her hip against Abby's. "Screw what Frank thinks. Nice to see that someone's getting some." She turned to look back at Frank and King. "And you could do worse. The boy is **fine**."

"I thought he wasn't your type."

"No, but it doesn't mean I can't appreciate him on a purely aesthetic level." She gave Abby another sidelong look. "You know it's not smart, right?"

Abby's lips tightened further. "I know."

Velasquez nodded. "Good. It's about time you did something stupid. The kind of stupid that won't get you dead, anyway." She grinned when Abby shot her a disbelieving look, either in amusement at her own observation or the look on Abby's face. Abby couldn't tell. "Don't look at me like that, Whistler. You're far too serious sometimes. Could do worse than have King loosen you up a little, especially if he's as good a lay as he says. Live a little." She shrugged. "Just... be careful, huh?"

"Is this the condom talk?"

"That, too."

Velasquez knocked her hip into Abby's again, giving her a grin as she headed off. She flipped a wave in King's direction, and then it was just the four of them.

"Okay," Frank said, casting an unreadable look in King's direction. "Let's saddle up, people. And let's not fuck this up."

-o-

The plan was fairly simple. Dex parked a block over from the building they were targeting; he'd be there if they needed a quick getaway, and he'd keep an eye out for any unwarranted activity. Otherwise, if everything went to plan, they'd rendezvous back at the truck.

Abby, Frank and King headed towards the dilapidated building that supposedly housed the blood donation centre. At this time of night, there weren't many people on the streets, and the few who had no other choice had been driven into shelters or into the doorways of buildings by the still drizzling rain. Still, Abby stayed alert, her hand resting close the handle of her silver blade as they stuck to the shadows.

King stayed close to her, not quite dogging her heels. Given that Frank didn't comment on it, she could only assume that this was one of the things that Frank had impressed on King during their discussions. It would've been nice, however, if Frank had decided to clue her in.

They stopped when the suspected centre was in sight, lurking in one of the many dark alleyways that marked this part of town.

"Okay," Frank breathed, his eyes searching the darkness. "Abby, King, you're up. You know what to do?"

Abby nodded, her eyes focused on the building in front of them. King nodded, too. His expression was tight and tense, but he wasn't fidgeting now. Instead, his body was still, loose in the way that she'd taught him.

She moved closer to the building, staying in the shadows, King right behind her. The plans that Frank had dug up from somewhere - or more likely that Hedges had - were right. On the east side of the building, where the rain ran down to blocked drains and formed puddles on the pocked road surface, was the rusting fire escape. There was no way that it would have passed local fire codes, which meant that either somebody was greasing palms or, more likely, there were familiars in the fire department.

She eyed it for a moment, judging the distance and the height. And then she took several steps away, not stopping until her back was against the far wall of the building opposite. When she'd gone as far as she could, she ran, splashing through the puddles and using the momentum to go up, bouncing off the wall and twisting her body so that she could catch hold of the bottom rung of the fire escape.

She hung there for a moment, her weight not quite enough to overcome the rust. She tensed her arms, bouncing as hard as she could with nothing underneath her, trying to shift it. And then King's hands were on her thighs, pulling her down, their combined weight finally enough to dislodge the ladder in a shower of rust.

He caught her when she stumbled, her body tight against his for a moment, and then he let go, keeping one hand out to steady her, just in case.

She ignored him, her eyes on the ladder and her ears straining for any indication that they'd been overheard.

There was nothing. Nothing but the sound of the softly falling rain.

She grabbed hold of the rungs, pulling herself up as rapidly and quietly as she could, and King was right behind her, still barely making a sound despite his size. She held out one hand when they reached the fourth floor, keeping him back until she could peer through the dirty window and make sure that the coast was clear.

There was no sign of life. She cocked her head, listening intently and only when she was satisfied did she finally take out her knife, sliding the flat blade behind the sash, wriggling it from side to side to ease the window catch open. She pushed the window up, slipping easily through the gap and landing, soft-footed, on the cracked tile floor.

It stayed quiet, the building as empty as the grave, but she didn't let her guard down, heading towards the door and easing it open a fraction of an inch. Although the lights were on in the corridor outside, they were dimmed. It was weird that a building as old as this one would be fitted with security lights, and they left the corridor full of long shadows, patches of light and dark interspersed. She waited until her eyes adjusted, alert for any sign of movement.

There was nothing. She turned to say as much to King, but the room behind her was empty.

Her heart thudded in her chest, a sudden lurch of fear for him rather than herself. She'd taken three steps back into the room, her hand flying again to the handle of her knife, when King slipped through the window, meeting her eyes. The look in his, as far as she could tell the dim light, was apologetic and a little scared.

"I slipped," he whispered when she drew close enough. "You were right about the rain." He held his hand up, and something white flashed in the dimness. "Cut myself. I wasn't sure if they'd smell it."

She grabbed at his wrist, pulling his palm towards her. He'd followed Dex's lead in the 'carrying a handkerchief' department and one was wrapped neatly around his palm, only the odd rusty streak to tell her that underneath it he was bleeding.

She gave him a look. "It's a blood bank," she whispered back to him, barely hiding her exasperation, and a sheepish look crossed his face. She couldn't really blame him for being nervous, or for over thinking things. Wrapping his hand would've been a smart move for anywhere that wasn't already inundated with the scent of old blood.

She headed back towards the door, King whisper-close behind her so that she could feel the heat radiating from his body. When she reached it again, she checked the corridor both ways before she finally slipped through. They wound their way along the floor, keeping to the shadows as much as possible, and when they drew closer to the top of the stairs she finally drew her weapon, training it ahead of her as she scanned the stairwell just like Dex had taught her. King caught on fast, mimicking her and covering her as she proceeded downwards.

The third floor was empty as well; this far into the building she couldn't hear the rain anymore, just the soft, humming of the overhead lights and the light patter of King's footsteps, eerily quiet.

They hit pay dirt on the second floor. When she glanced through window in the fire door leading from the stairwell, she spotted two men talking in low voices outside a glass-doored room. She crouched down, pulling the fire door open a fraction of an inch and straining to hear them through the gap. King stayed behind her, close enough for her to feel his warm breath against her neck. The rhythm of his breathing was quick, but light. Tense, then, but not stressed. She filed it away with everything else she'd examine later.

She couldn't make out what the men were saying, not before they'd finished talking and reached out to shake hands, but the light was better down here and she didn't miss the small, dark imprint of a clan tattoo on the inside of one man's wrist. The angle was wrong for the other, but she'd bet everything she owned, little as it was, that there'd be a similar mark marring his skin.

That proved it, at least to Abby's satisfaction. There was no doubt whatsoever in her mind that this was a vampire operation. There'd be no doubt in Frank's mind either, whenever he finally caught up with them.

When the men finally moved away, she waited until they'd turned the corner before darting across the corridor to the room they'd stood outside. She slipped inside and waited until King had eased through the doorway as well before she shut the door, her eyes quickly scanning the interior of the room for any signs of danger. There was nothing to see but neat rows of microscopes and a walk in fridge in the far corner of the room.

"Did you recognise the tattoos?" she asked King, heading towards it. He followed her, shaking his head.

"No, I didn't," he said. "They weren't Talos, and they weren't one of the minor clans I know, but then I only know the ones who spent their time sucking up to Danica."

She nodded, already distracted by the walk-in cooler. The door to it wasn't locked, although the handle showed clearly where a padlock would go. She cast a last glance back towards the door leading to the corridor, but there were no shadows that indicated that anyone was outside or was heading back in their direction.

The door pulled open with a soft sigh as the seals gave way, and she rounded the corner, staring at the rows upon rows of hanging blood bags, most of them bigger than the standard one pint donation. But the blood bags weren't the only things on ice; there were a couple of large, dark shapes at the back of the cooler, and when she moved closer they resolved themselves into discarded, lifeless bodies, derelicts judging by the clothing and the smell.

Next to her, King swallowed, although these couldn't possibly have been the first dead bodies he'd seen. "Guess that answers the question of whether or not this is a vamp op. And I'm assuming that with all these bodies, it's a short lived one, too." She didn't follow him. "Dead bodies attract attention," he elaborated.

She looked back at the vampires' victims. "They won't be missed," she said quietly. "They could have a freezer full and nobody around here would notice."

"That's a very pessimistic way of looking at it," he said. "But you may be right." He hesitated for a moment, rubbing his palm with his thumb, which this time seemed more thoughtful than nervous. "What now?"

"The plan hasn't changed," she said calmly. "We hunt vamps, we burn the place down, we find Frank. Not necessarily in that order."

He grinned at her, sudden, sharp and fierce. "I like your plans."

She gave him a tight little smile, pulling out her knife as well as her gun as she headed back towards the door. King followed her, once again mimicking her actions.

The first three rooms they checked were empty and were obviously not in use. The paint was peeling on the walls, blackened with damp in some places, and in one room the corner of a window was cracked, part of the pane missing, letting the rain come through.

They moved on, constantly on the alert for any sign of life - or un-life. It wasn't until they ventured down to the first floor that they found it.

The first vamp didn't even see her coming; she used her silver blade to good effect, sliding it neatly between his ribs, and kept going as he exploded into ash and dust around her.

The second vamp turned as she approached him, throwing his hand up to block her blow. She twisted and spun, breaking his grip on her wrist and slamming the back of her head into his nose. He staggered back far enough for her to slide her foot between his legs, tripping him and following him down to the ground, her knife making quick work of him as well.

She hadn't spotted the third vamp, but then she didn't need to. As the woman headed towards her, screaming like a banshee, King stepped into her path, raising his gun and firing. The vamp was still shrieking as she dissolved into burning embers.

Abby had been hoping for silence, but the sound of King's sidearm wasn't going to alert anyone who hadn't already heard the screams. She clicked the safety off on her own weapon, sliding her knife back into its sheath.

There was gunfire further down the corridor and she headed in its direction, being smart about it and checking every single doorway to make sure that no one could creep up behind her. King followed her lead, although she got the impression he was chafing at the bit. He kept it reined in though and that impressed her more than she wanted to admit, especially given that it was his first time out.

By the time they reached the room where the sound had originated, Frank had the situation under control. His face was dusted with ash and there were two bodies up against the wall, both wearing the same dark suits she'd seen the familiars in earlier.

She guessed that answered the question she hadn't asked about what had happened to them.

Frank gave them the cursory once over. "Any problems?" he asked, and she shook her head. He nodded, his eyes going distant for a moment, and - not for the first time - she had no idea what was going on his head.

"What now?" King asked, doing good job of tamping down his eagerness.

Frank focused on him, his expression smoothing out. "This floor's cleared," he said. "The rest?"

"We cleared them," Abby confirmed.

"There's a couple of bodies upstairs," King added.

Frank's gaze grew even sharper. "Familiars?"

"No," Abby interjected softly before King had a chance to answer. "Looks like this operation got a little sloppy. Homeless, I think. No one's going to be looking for them."

Frank nodded, a little happier. "Then we burn this place down to the ground."

"Murder, mayhem, and arson," King said. "This is shaping up to be my kind of a night."

-o-

Normally when she rode back to base after a night of hunting, Abby was tired but wired. The good kind of wired, the kind that had her alert, running through the night's events, figuring out what she'd done right and identifying where things could have, or had, gone wrong so that she could incorporate it into future missions. It would take her an hour or so to wind down when she finally arrived home and she'd spend that time productively: cleaning her gun, checking and waxing her bow whether she'd used it or not, even hitting the gym for some Pilates until the adrenaline had left her system and she could sleep.

Tonight was a different type of wired. She was alert, but her mind wasn't occupied with running through the night's events. Instead, she was caught up in what had happened earlier that evening, not helped by the fact that King was sitting in the back of the truck with her, his leg pressed up against her and the light scent of his sweat mingling with hers.

His fingers were tapping an arrhythmic little beat against his knee as he stared out of the window, and she had to fight not to reach out and press them against his leg to stop him from fidgeting. Or better, reach out and tangle her fingers with his, just so that she could feel his warmth.

Maybe Velasquez was right - maybe it was time that she did something a little stupid, if she hadn't done so already.

Dex was humming along to the radio and Frank was a silent presence in the front, staring through the windscreen, his profile once again like granite. She took a risk, letting her hand slide down from her leg until rested against King's. He glanced across at her, his expression a little surprised, and then he shot a quick, furtive look in Frank's direction before he, too, shifted his hand, moving it across his leg until their fingers touched.

God, she really was back in high school. Any second now she'd start scrawling their names on the covers of her notebooks, and wouldn't Frank just love that?

Frank shifted in the front, and she turned her head, staring out of the window as the streets rolled past, resolutely not looking at King but still feeling a pleasant tingle every time his fingers stroked against hers. By the time they got back to base, she wasn't simply wired anymore. She wanted him in a way that she'd never wanted anyone, not when she prided herself on being so self-contained. But now all she could think about was him: his hands, his mouth, his dick.

She didn't look at him as she climbed out of the truck, but she didn't need to. She was hyperaware of him, shivering lightly when he came to stand beside her, close enough to attract Frank's attention if Frank had cared to look.

But Frank's attention wasn't focused on them; instead he was staring towards the warehouse doors, his face drawn down into another frown. And then he tensed up, pulling his weapon.

Abby froze, King forgotten. "What is it?" she asked, keeping her voice low and urgent.

Frank held out his hand, gesturing to them to stay still and stay back. She recognised the signal even if King didn't and drew her own weapon, Dex mirroring her actions. King followed suit, looking to her rather than to Frank even though she didn't have any answers for him.

She scanned the building, searching for whatever had alerted Frank. She couldn't see anything, nothing obvious anyway, but she trusted Frank's instincts implicitly. When she looked back at Frank, he made another gesture, sending her and King in one direction while he and Dex took the other.

King hesitated, obviously thrown by Frank's signals. It was something they hadn't covered with him, and she cursed her oversight. She abandoned them and caught King's attention with a hand gesture all of her own, keeping it simple, more like mime than the military style hand gestures that Frank preferred. He nodded, his eyes darting towards the warehouse doors, but he followed her when she moved out, circling around the back of the building to the small door in the side.

There was no sign of Frank and Dex now and she strained her ears for any sounds that might indicate that Mick and Velasquez were in trouble. There was nothing but the soft plink, plink of the earlier rain as it dripped down from the guttering.

She caught King's eye, making another series of simple hand gestures indicating that she was about to open the door and that he should cover her. He nodded, bringing his weapon up in the two handed grip that Dex had taught him.

She turned the handle slowly, half expecting it still to be locked, but it gave with a soft click and she eased it open. It was dark inside the building and she pulled her flashlight from her utility belt, not turning it on yet, just in case there were unfriendly eyes in the building, or even friendly ones that were a bit trigger-happy, as Mick was wont to be. Instead, she strained her ears, but again she was met by silence, nothing but the sound of her breathing and King's.

She slipped through the door, King on her heels. She waited until she was inside with the door closed behind her before she turned on the flashlight, keeping the beam focused as she swept the surroundings with her gun.

Nothing. Just the sound of the rain still dripping, only...

It was coming from inside now, and as far as she knew their roof didn't leak.

She swallowed, feeling the familiar tension building up in her and praying that she - and Frank - was wrong.

The warehouse was big and echoing, which meant that she couldn't tell the direction the sound was coming from and she still wasn't convinced that it meant anything anyway. But by now she should be hearing Mick or Velasquez, the familiar sounds of a basketball in the gym or of Velasquez singing off key, and there was no sign of them.

She took two steps into the building, scanning every corner, every dark shadow before she moved forward. King was right behind her, alert and aware, although she could hear him breathing, loud and heavy, as he tried to control his fear.

She didn't blame him; the fear was starting to rise in her as well, only in her case it wasn't about what might be out there in the dark but about what might not.

She resisted the urge to call for her team mates. If they were there, she'd find them eventually and if they weren't... there could be something else out there, something they didn't need to alert to their presence.

The size of their base meant that they needed to split up if they were to stand any chance of finding Mick and Velasquez, even if she was reluctant to send King off on his own. She slowed down, waiting for him to catch up and then, holding his eyes, she held up a finger, pointing to herself and then in one direction before pointing to him and pointing in the other direction.

He got it, giving her a terse, tense nod and bringing his weapon up again before heading in the direction she'd sent him. She hesitated for a moment, watching him go and fighting the urge to go after him, knowing that sooner or later she'd need to let him off the leash without her to watch his back. She'd just hoped for later.

The first room she searched seemed clear, although there was a sharp, metallic scent in the air, one that set the hair on the back of her neck prickling.

She kept heading towards the mess hall, moving quickly and silently as she searched the rooms one by one, logically and with every nerve on edge. When she finally reached the mess, she slipped, her foot sliding out from underneath her on a wet patch spread across the floor. If the sinks were leaking that might explain the sound of water she'd heard, but when she touched it, it wasn't the slickness of water she felt, but the tacky stickiness of drying blood.

She fought down the panic, tightening her hold on the grip of her gun and taking deep, even breaths. She stayed low, easing the door open and slipping through it so that anyone in the darkness beyond it would aim above her head.

There was no one there, friend or foe, and she straightened up, still listening, still looking.

Nothing. Nothing but silence and the blood on the floor.

She moved on, more quickly this time, heading towards the living areas; if Mick or Velasquez were alive, the offices at the back where they slept would be the most defensible.

Halfway there, she heard a noise. She froze again, tilting her head and listening intently, hoping that she could identify where it had come from. She finally narrowed it down to the gym, which made no sense - it was the most open, least defensible room in the building.

Heart in her mouth, she eased the door open, her hand steady and her grip on her gun firm and sure.

The scent of blood was stronger here, a thick miasma in the air, sharp and sickly sweet. She gagged on it, stepping into the room as her heart pounded in her chest.

Light flashed in her direction, almost blinding her. She brought her weapon up just as the beam lowered and she could finally make out King's face beyond it, deep shadows under his eyes and around his mouth where the light didn't hit.

He dropped the flashlight with a clatter and it rolled on the floor, the beam yawing around the room, leaving her dizzy. She took three steps towards him before she realised that the dark marks on his face weren't all shadows.

His hands dropped again towards what she thought were a bundle rags on the floor before she realised that she'd been mistaken about that, too.

"I can't stop the bleeding," he gasped, and there was blood on his hands as well, thick and dark in the beam from her flashlight. "Abby..."

His voice was frantic and his hands shaking as he pressed them against Velasquez's neck. Abby fell to her knees on the other side of Velasquez, her hands darting out to add pressure to the wound, but the blood oozed past her fingers, coming too quickly and too thickly.

Velasquez's eyes rolled towards her, glazed and unfocused. She tried to speak but blood bubbled on her lips and no sound escaped.

"Hold on," King begged, putting more pressure against the gaping wound in Velasquez's throat. It didn't help, the blood pulsing past his fingers, and by now his hands were red to the wrists. "Just hold on, Selena. Abby's here, okay, Abby's here. Everything..." His voice cracked. "Everything's going to be okay, just..."

Velasquez's fingers came up, clawing weakly at King's hands, or maybe at the wound in her throat. The light in her eyes was fading, her movements growing fainter until her fingers finally went slack.

"No, no, no, no, no... Fuck!"

Abby stared mutely down at Velasquez's bloodstained face as the life ebbed away from her friend. Selena's last breath left her in a sigh, the muscles in her face slackening and her eyes empty and blank as they stared up at Abby. King's hand was still pressed against the wound in her neck, his fingers searching for a pulse that Abby knew he wouldn't find. When his hands flew to Velasquez's chest to start chest compressions, Abby grabbed at him to stop him, her nails digging into the skin of his wrist and scratching against scar tissue.

"She's gone," she said harshly. "There's nothing you can do."

King sat back on his heels, staring at her with wide, wounded eyes, shock and grief in them even though he'd only known Velasquez a matter of months. The knees of his jeans were soaked with blood, darkening the fabric to black, and she let go of him, looking away from him and back down at Velasquez's empty, broken body.

The pain would hit later when she'd had time to process, when she knew that they both were safe and that whatever had killed Velasquez wasn't still out there, lurking in the dark, but right now she was numb, unable to do anything but reach out and gently press Velasquez's eyelids shut.

"We have to keep looking," she said. "Mick -" She bit his name off, knowing that he was already dead. He was a flake, but no way in hell would he have left Velasquez like this if he was still alive. "We need to keep looking," she said stubbornly, and King nodded silently, reaching for his flashlight.

The overhead lights flickered on, and she spun, slipping in Velasquez's blood she brought her weapon up, training it at the door. King was as startled she was this time and she heard the clatter of his flashlight hitting the floor again as he jerked his gun up.

Frank's gun pointed straight at them, the muzzle dark and threatening, and Abby let out a shaky sigh, lowering her weapon, King echoing her move a second or two later.

Frank's eyes swept over them, taking in the blood and Velasquez's body. He slumped, suddenly looking his age, but then his gun came up again, covering the pair of them as Dex stepped into the room behind him.

Abby stayed where she was, keeping her gun lowered. When King jerked his up again, she slammed her hand down on top of it, pushing it back down and ignoring the look King gave her. She met Frank's eyes calmly even though her heart was jittering, tripping fast and furious with grief and fear. She had no idea why he was acting like this, but she was prepared to wait for him to explain it.

"Mick's dead," Dex said, no preamble in his words. His mouth was tight and deep furrows were carved in his face. "The bastards ripped him apart."

Her stomach turned over as she thought back to the sound of the rain that wasn't. It explained the blood outside of this room, and probably everywhere else in the complex. She swallowed, giving Dex a brief nod of acknowledgement.

Frank was staring at King, his weapon still aimed in their general direction. "Where's the cell phone?" he asked, and King's head came up, watchful and wary.

Abby's gaze darted between them, confused. It was standard practice for anyone on the hunt to carry a cell - a burner, something that was prepaid and couldn't be traced - and she had one with the rest of her kit, but she hadn't known that Frank had given one to King.

"Hand it over." Frank's tone was ice cold and implacable, and King fumbled in his pocket, pulling it out and tossing it towards Frank.

Frank caught it, one-handed, the gun never wavering from King. He passed it across to Dex, who opened it up and start to scroll through the menu.

"It's been used," Dex reported. "But the history's been erased."

"Convenient," said Frank, and there was something dangerous in his voice. "Who did you call?"

"What's going on?" Abby kept her voice even with effort. Her fingers were shaking, shivers of shock running through her body.

Frank ignored her, not taking his eyes, or his gun, off King. "Who did you call?" he repeated.

King swallowed, his eyes tracking the muzzle of Frank's weapon. "My brother," he said. He opened his mouth as though to say something else, offer some justification, but one look at Frank's face had him closing it again.

Frank nodded, but not to acknowledge King. More as though King's words had only confirmed his suspicions. "Do you really expect us to believe that?" he asked softly.

"Is someone going to tell me what the hell is going on?" Abby interrupted, her voice fierce with fear. "Yes, it was stupid, but what the hell does King contacting his brother have to do with this?"

Frank looked at her and then his eyes drifted past her shoulder, up towards the back wall. The hairs on the nape of her neck prickled again, her shoulders stiffening as she turned her head to look.

There was a clan mark painted on the wall, its outline drying to a rusty brown, marred with trickles where the blood had run while it had still been wet.

She shuddered, her fingers curling into claws around the grip of her gun, but she thought recognised it, and her eyes flickered to King.

"Want to show us yours?" Frank asked, his voice still like ice.

She half expected King to say something stupid, the way he always said something stupid when he was on edge and nervous, but for once he was silent, his shoulders rounding as he drew to back into himself. "It's the same," he said quietly. "Talos Clan."

"Show us!" Frank barked, the sound sudden and harsh, bitter enough to set Abby twitching.

King licked at his lips, still avoiding Frank's eyes as he tugged down the waistband of his pants, displaying his tattoo. His fingers curled helplessly against the skin of his stomach as if he was just itching to hide it, but he waited until Frank's eyes drifted back up to his face again before he pulled the fabric up to cover it.

"You think this is my fault," King said, and it wasn't a question.

Frank's bitterness was even more obvious now. "I know this is your fault."

"Frank..." Abby's voice died when Frank turned his head to look at her, the grief and pain - the rage - in them silencing her.

"They hit the lab, Whistler," Dex said, his voice remote like he was a thousand yards away, lost so deep inside himself there was nothing but this deadened surface remaining. "They knew exactly what to look for."

"Not just what to look for," Frank added, his eyes still fixed on King, the fury in them hardening into a kind of cold hatred that chilled Abby's blood. "They knew exactly where we were and they knew exactly when we were the most vulnerable."

His mouth crooked up, the expression utterly devoid of any humour. "But they didn't know we have fail safes," he said. "You didn't know that, did you?"

King hesitated for a moment, his eyes scanning Frank's face, and then he shook his head mutely.

"That's where I sent Sommerfield and Hedges," Frank continued. "They took samples of the antivirus to our other cells - you didn't know about those, either, did you?"

Abby's eyes darted between them, unable to follow what was going on. She opened her mouth to ask, to demand that Frank explain exactly what he was accusing King of doing. But something in his expression kept her silent and she was left sitting next to King, fighting the urge to reach out to him just so he wouldn't have to face Frank alone. Or maybe reach out to Frank, so cold and lost in his anger and grief that he seemed to have lost his mind. The Talos Clan had come to look for King, that much was certain, but that didn't mean it was King's fault. Surely Frank had to see that, no matter how irrational he was being?

King shook his head again, still staring at Frank warily. "No," he said quietly, his voice defeated. "I didn't know that."

"What I don't understand, King, is when the hell you called them. I made sure that you weren't out of my sight after I give you that cell."

The words hit her like a punch in the stomach. She couldn't breathe, her chest tightening as Frank's certainty sweeping through her, leaving her cold and utterly bereft. Her heart shrank down to something small and painful as she remembered, the memory hitting her hard in the gut. She finally brought her own weapon around, training it on King.

"He was out of my sight," she whispered, the memory stealing the strength from her voice. "At the blood bank. Only for a minute or two, but it was enough, wasn't it?"

Her voice cracked on the last few words, her hand shaking so badly that the gun shook, too. She brought her other hand up to steady it, holding it the same way that Dex had taught King as she pushed herself to her feet, moving away from King towards Frank.

King stared up at her, a plea in his eyes, but when she didn't lower her weapon - didn't do anything but stare at him, openly grieving - he dropped his gaze, staring down at his bloodied hands.

"You sold us out," Frank said. "You fucking well sold us out, you piece of shit."

His finger tightened on the trigger and it was instinct, just instinct, to reach out again and put her hand over his, pushing his weapon down much she had back in King's cell. Instinct, and the fact that her heart was fucking breaking.

"We don't know that, Frank," she pleaded, her throat tight with the tears that wanted to escape. She swallowed heavily when he turned his face towards her, his expression as cold, as fixed, as stone, but it was grief she was swallowing down, not fear, not this time. "We've been stupid." Her voice broke. "Not just with King. There are too many people who know where we are, too many weak links..."

"Whistler..."

The tears spilled from her eyes, rolling down her cheeks, but she didn't reach up to wipe them away. "It could have been any of them."

She finally looked back at King, and it hurt, stabbing sharp and deep. It stabbed even deeper when she caught the glint of hope in his eyes.

"If we assume it's King," she said, her voice shaking, "and it's someone else who sold us out, we'll be fucked. We can't trust anyone."

"We can't trust King," Frank said, and there was grief in his voice, too.

"No," she said, and this time her voice didn't shake. "I know we can't trust him."

The hope in King's eyes died, leaving something pained and broken behind as he stared up at her.

"What do we do with him?" Dex asked in a low rumble. "We can't just kill him."

"Can't we?" Frank raised his weapon again. This time Abby didn't stop him even though something in her broke all over again, the tears streaming down her face as she bit back on her sobs, holding them tightly inside her and not letting a sound escape. Only some of it was for Velasquez and Mick; the rest was for her, for having everything ripped away from her at once, for letting him make her this stupid.

 _I'm sorry, Velasquez. I'm so fucking sorry._

"If Whistler's right, and it was someone else..." There was reluctance in Dex's voice, but she didn't think it was just down to her argument. Dex had warmed to King, too.

"She's not." There was no doubt in Frank's voice and she could only wait for the shot, her heart breaking all over again as Frank's finger tightened on the trigger.

But the bullet didn't come; instead Frank lowered his weapon, staring at King for long moments before glancing at Abby, his expression, for the first time, torn.

"If the Talos Clan want him back so badly, they can have him." He eyed King again and then snapped out harshly, "We have to leave, **now**. Take his weapon."

Dex stepped forward and King gave it up without a fight. It was just as well; Abby couldn't bear to go near King, not now. She couldn't even bear to look at him, and the weight of his gaze pressed down on her until her knees buckled.

Frank stepped away from King, his hand catching hold of her elbow as she stumbled. He kept his touch light, not dragging her after him like she deserved, and she let him steer her towards the exit.

Her last sight of King was of him on his knees, his hands still red with Velasquez's blood.

She didn't look back.


	8. Chapter 8

The Yavaris' workshop was down one of the many foetid alleys that populated the poorer parts of the city. In their shoes, Abby would have chosen somewhere without nooks and crannies, no dark corners that could hide the kind of things Abby hunted. But presumably the rent was cheap, and so, come to that, was Firouzeh Yavari.

Firouzeh was small and neat, with dark, doe like eyes that managed to mask a mind like a steel trap. She gave every appearance of being demure and agreeable, from her neatly wrapped _hijab_ to the soft slippers she wore and the soft timbre of her voice, but Abby knew better than anyone how appearances could be deceptive. Certainly she wasn't going to make the mistake of underestimating Firouzeh.

"You pay upfront," Firouzeh insisted, fingers snapping impatiently. "You tell Frank Reilly that."

Abby bit back on her impatience. Not everyone they dealt with had the same motivations when it came to the war against vamps, but their options were limited and Aref Yavari, whatever his motivations, was a good gunsmith, especially since most of his business wasn't of the legal kind.

And his wife was an incredibly sharp businesswoman.

"Half upfront," Abby said. "The rest on delivery."

Firouzeh treated her to a shrewd, searching look. "The price has gone up," she said. "Fifty percent."

They were barely going to be able to afford Yavari's prices as it was. No way could they afford a price hike of that extent, but Abby tried hard not to let any of that show on her face. Instead, she tilted her head, given Firouzeh a look just as sharp, just as searching as the one Firouzeh had given her.

"You're not the only suppliers," she said calmly, trying to keep her voice even and unflustered. "If you're planning to price yourself out of the market, we'll go elsewhere."

Firouzeh's smile took on a predatory edge. "Ah, but where will you go, Abigail? I hear you've dropped most of your... alternative sources." She made little quote marks, and for that alone Abby was tempted to turn on her heel and walkout. But Firouzeh was right in one respect - their sources were limited now, largely because of Abby. She was the one who'd finally persuaded Frank that those they dealt with knew far too much about their operations and that the smart thing to do would be to build up their network of connections again, one by one, cautiously and ready for any sign of betrayal.

Frank hadn't argued much. He'd aged considerably in the wake of Velasquez and Mick's deaths, growing icy and remote. Sometimes she thought he was humouring her, except that Frank had never humoured anyone. She should have known it would come back to bite them on the ass.

She considered her options carefully, meeting Firouzeh's eyes as she sorted through them, dismissing those she knew weren't going to work. "It's a temporary measure," she said. "While we figure out who can trust and who we can't." Firouzeh gave her a keen look, obviously putting together the titbits of information that Abby was giving her to come up with a picture that probably wasn't too far from the truth.

Their world operated as much on rumours and gossip as the surface world did. She'd be surprised if Firouzeh hadn't already picked up a hint here or there, and Abby was willing to take a calculated risk.

"Someone tried to sell us out." She hardened her expression, not missing the way that Firouzeh's eyes narrowed. "As you can tell, it didn't work. We're still here, but I'm not about to let some bastard screw us over again. Be thankful that your name, at least, isn't on my personal shit list." Of course, that was largely because Firouzeh kept things so strictly business that neither she nor Aref knew anything about Frank's team beyond the colour of their money, but there was no reason to share that little fact with Firouzeh.

She didn't elaborate, but Firouzeh was scarily smart. She heard the rest of the implied threat in Abby's words and her look became even more assessing as she weighed up the risks to Aref and herself versus the possibility for profit. But before she could speak again, Aref interrupted them.

"That why you send him to us?" he rumbled, busy wiping his hands on an old rag. There was still oil underneath his fingernails and lining the creases in his palms. "Your man?"

Abby stared at him for a long moment, her mind whirring, examining all of the possibilities and dismissing them one by one. Eventually, when she was none the wiser, she was left with no choice but to ask, "Who?

Aref stopped wiping his hands, frowning at her, his expression confused. "Big guy - what was his name again?" He directed the question at Firouzeh, who was also frowning, but her expression was edging towards concerned rather than confused.

"King," she said because Firouzeh never forgot a face or a name. "Hannibal King, that was it." She gave Abby another sharp look, but there was no missing the fear that lay underneath it, something sour and jagged. "He gave your name or we wouldn't have dealt with him."

"My name?" For a second, Abby thought she'd misheard. There was no doubt that Whistler's name opened a lot of doors in some places that he travelled, even if his focus was on Blade and only Blade, but Abby's...

Aref nodded slowly, concern slowly blossoming on his face as well. "We weren't sure," he rumbled, glancing at his wife. "And when we found out he had a tattoo..." He shrugged, but his eyes were as sharp as Firouzeh's. "We check," he added. "We always check."

Firouzeh stepped closer to him, eyeing Abby suspiciously. "He explained," she said. "He said you saved him." Her tone was accusing, as though it was Abby's fault that they'd bought into King's stories. "With the tattoo, I didn't want to..." Her lips compressed into a narrow line as she bit back whatever she was about to say. "But you say that you don't know him?"

"No, I know him," Abby confirmed quietly. "What did he want?"

Any relief on Firouzeh's part was short lived as her look turned calculating again. "Weapons, like you. Silver, like you. He paid upfront."

King was hunting. Abby supposed that answered the question of where he'd gone and what he was up to. She'd thought - feared - that he'd gone back to Danica, that even if he hadn't been the one responsible for what had happened to Velasquez and Mick, they'd left him with no choice.

But he was turning out to be more stubborn than even she'd expected. And either smarter or sneakier, depending on how you looked at it.

"Should we worry?" Aref asked, a frown between his eyes. "He's a good guy?"

She should say something, even if she didn't owe the Yavaris anything more than the agreed price. She certainly didn't owe King anything, but when it came to King she'd always been stupid. She couldn't quite bring herself to tell the Yavaris no, not when it was still this raw, and Abby wasn't the only one with contacts - the Yavaris had their own networks. A word from her, and King's name would be mud. Worse than mud: no one willing to sell him weapons and maybe a knife in his ribs in a dark alley for his troubles.

No wonder he'd used her name. It was the only in he'd had. And if Frank hadn't seen fit to share King's name - and what he thought King had done - more widely, then Abby wasn't going to start.

"If he paid upfront, what have you got to worry about?"

Aref snorted out a laugh, something that shook his belly. "True," he said, but Firouzeh was less easily appeased.

"He had a tattoo," she said stubbornly, folding her arms across her chest. The look on her face was pinched, something shrewish in the tension in her eyes. "If you saved him - if you know him - how did you not know he was coming here, to us?"

Again, the truth hovered on the tip of her tongue, but she settled for, "I haven't seen him... for months." Almost four months, in fact, not that Abby was counting. "I thought he'd head home not... not hunt."

Firouzeh was still watching her closely, but at Abby's words her face cleared, some small sense of satisfaction showing in her expression. "Ah," she said, and her voice held a smug tone that instantly set Abby's teeth on edge. "Bad break up, yes?"

Abby fought down the instinct to respond in kind. Better the Yavaris believe that than know the truth. King had fucked her over, not fucked somebody else.

"We stick to the agreed price," she said and Firouzeh raised an eyebrow at her. "And you get twenty-five percent upfront, no more." When it looked as though Firouzeh was about to argue, Abby folded her own arms, no longer caring that her expression was less than friendly. "I think the fact that I've referred more business your way - and business willing to pay a hundred percent upfront - counts for something."

Aref chuckled again, although what was amusing him this time, Abby couldn't tell. He slid his arm around his wife's shoulders, giving Firouzeh a gentle shake and ignoring the look she sent him. "For you, since you are such a good customer, we will agree to that deal." He smirked, the look incongruous on his normally placid face - perhaps he and Firouzeh were more alike than Abby had suspected. "This man of yours? He buys a lot of weapons, and pays lots of money. You refer more like him, and for you we may only insist on twenty percent upfront."

"He's one-of-a-kind," Abby said dryly before steering the conversation back towards safer ground. "Hedges has sent some sketches over, something he wants to try. I'll leave them with you."

Aref nodded, suddenly all business again. "He has a mind, that one. I will do my best to keep him happy." He shot her a shrewd look, resembling his wife more than ever. "For the other seventy-five percent, of course."

-o-

Frank and Hedges were clustered around Hedges' laptop when Abby got back to their new base of operations, staring at the screen as though it was going to answer all of their questions. She hesitated for a moment, all too aware of how much smaller and more cramped their current base was than their previous location. Frank was already looming too close to Hedges for Hedges' comfort, peering over his shoulder at the laptop and making Hedges twitch nervously. Adding Abby into the mix wasn't going to make Hedges any more comfortable.

She was about to move away when Hedges gave her a pleading look, relief sliding onto his face when she gave in and slipped through the doorway, dumping her messenger bag on the desk.

"How'd it go?" Hedges asked, clearly eager to change the subject from whatever Frank had been talking about.

Abby treated him to a one shouldered shrug. She didn't blame him for being uncomfortable around Frank these days. Frank had never been one to crack a joke, but he'd also never been this intense or closed off. Velasquez and Mick's deaths had affected all of them, but they'd hit Frank the hardest. "Yavari is going to do his best," she said as she played with the strap of her bag, sliding the rough material through her fingers. "They wanted paying upfront."

Frank frowned, his eyes growing slightly unfocused as he did the sums in his head. "We don't have the funds to pay them upfront," he said flatly.

"I know. I got them down to twenty-five percent." When Frank opened his mouth to argue, she added, "I dealt with it, Frank. They know we've lost most of our usual sources."

He shut his mouth, giving her a long, steady look. There was no accusation in his expression, but she felt the weight of it anyway, the guilt dragging her down.

It was starting to become familiar.

If she'd been stronger, she'd have held his eyes, giving as good as she got. Instead, she glanced away, staring back out through the doorway towards the smaller room that Dex had co-opted as their gym. It was too small and cramped for Abby's work out of choice, but it reflected the rest of their lives.

"Dex working with the new guy?" she asked, hoping for distraction. She couldn't see them from where she was standing, but she could hear the sounds as Dex put Estevez through his paces.

Frank grunted, his eyes never leaving her face. "What else do I need to know about that you're not telling me?"

She was a hell of a lot better at lying to herself than she was at lying to Frank, but she didn't want to go there, not when Frank had been so unpredictable recently. "There's a new hunter in town," she said, hesitating when Frank shot her a keen look, showing the first interest in anything she'd said that he'd shown for months. It was too tempting to leave it there but there was no point in putting off the inevitable and Frank was not going to let this drop. "It's King."

All of the expression disappeared from Frank's face, draining away to leave something cold and hard as diamonds behind. "You're sure?"

"Yeah." She didn't give him anything else. There was nothing left to give, no matter what Frank thought about it.

"Why the hell are the Yavaris happy to deal with him?"

Abby shrugged. She could have said something to make the Yavaris sound less gullible, and less like Abby hadn't warned them when she should have done: they knew he was ex-Talos and didn't care; his cash was as good as, if not better, than Frank's; that King had paid upfront.

The one thing she couldn't - wouldn't - say was that he'd used Abby's name to get his foot in the door.

Instead she turned her attention to Hedges, not willing to poke at things that were still too raw. "Yavari thinks he should have the prototype ready for you in a couple of weeks," she said quietly.

"What's King up to?" Frank growled, leaving no doubt that he expected her to have the answer. He should have known better - she had no answers as far as King was concerned. His motivations were a mystery to her, and it was a mystery she had no interest in solving.

She'd grieved for Mick and Velasquez; she didn't grieve for King. Maybe she'd grieved for who she thought he'd been, but that person had obviously never existed. The fact that she'd fallen so easily for him still had her twisting in shame in those quiet moments when she dropped her guard, keeping her awake in the still of the night and leaving her unable to meet Frank's eyes now. She didn't need to revisit it.

Frank was still waiting for an answer, and when she shrugged again it simply irritated him. "Whistler..." he growled.

"He's hunting," she said simply, still not looking at him and concentrating on breathing, just breathing, through the hurt. "He bought silver weapons from the Yavaris."

"He could still be working for Danica Talos. I wouldn't put it past her to have her lackeys take out the competition with silver."

Frank was probably right, but just thinking about it made her head - and her heart - hurt. She didn't understand any of them, not Danica, not King, and sometimes not even Frank with his wounded eyes and his stony expression.

"I don't know," she admitted, still refusing to meet Frank's gaze. "All I know is that the Yavaris are supplying him with silver weapons. I don't know anything else."

"No?"

She stilled, her fingers resting on the strap of her bag. "No," she said, and the lie tasted bitter in her mouth. "King isn't my problem any more." That didn't feel like the truth either. "Is that all?"

Frank's eyes stayed on her, fierce and steady, but now she could meet them, letting her anger at King keep her focused. It helped, a little. It helped even more when he nodded, finally seeming satisfied to let the matter drop, but she should have known better than to let down her guard.

"I want him shot on sight, understood?"

"I understand," she said, still meeting Frank's eyes calmly when she was anything but calm inside. She had no intention of shooting King, no matter what he'd done, and hopefully King was smart enough to stay out of Frank's way.

Frank must have known that on some level, but he didn't call her on it, and since he didn't make it an issue, it wasn't going to become one. Instead, he nodded slowly and then changed the subject, asking, "You want to give Dex a hand training Estevez? Could do with a fresh pair of eyes."

She didn't. She couldn't bear it, not after King, but she knew Frank well enough to know she wasn't going to get a choice in the matter. "I need to talk to Sommerfield," she said. "I'll check in with Dex later." By then she would have had a chance to put her game face on.

Frank nodded again, turning back to Hedges and obviously dismissing her from his thoughts as soon as she turned on her heel and left the room.

Sommerfield was crouched over her keyboard in her cramped workspace when Abby found her. The pictures from the modelling she was doing swirled on the screen even though Sommerfield couldn't possibly see them. She twitched nervously when Abby walked through the door, and Abby couldn't blame her for that one, not after what had happened to Mick and Velasquez.

"It's me," she said quietly, another surge of guilt going through her as she watched Sommerfield relax, a smile finally forming on the other woman's face.

"Did it go okay?" Sommerfield asked, her eyes tracking towards the door as she tried to pinpoint Abby's position.

"It went fine." There was still a tight, tense, twisted feeling in the pit of her stomach, left after her discussion with Frank, but she'd work around it if she had to. For the moment she took several deep, even breaths, forcing herself to relax and not think about King or Frank or anything else.

Sommerfield tilted her head, her expression showing clearly that she'd caught something in Abby's voice and was trying to decide whether or not to pursue it. If she did, there was no way that Abby wasn't going to end up spilling; Sommerfield was too damned good at getting inside Abby's head. Much better than Frank, for all that Frank could be scarier. It was time to try distraction.

"I picked up something for Zoë. Some colouring books and some crayons. It's nothing much..."

"Thank you. What do you say, Zoë?"

"Thank you," Zoë parroted, taking them from Abby's outstretched grasp. Her small face was solemn, as it usually was these days, and Abby felt another twinge of grief.

"Why don't you take them into the kitchen, Zoë?" Sommerfield asked. "I need to talk to Abby, okay?"

Abby watched Zoë go. If she kept quiet, maybe Sommerfield would forget she was there and go back to her viral modelling.

" **Is** everything okay?" Sommerfield asked again, and this time her expression was worried.

"It's fine."

Sommerfield tapped her fingers on the bench, her fingernails clacking against the wood. "No, it's not," she said impatiently. "Don't try to bullshit me, Whistler. I know you too damned well. Frank giving you a hard time?"

"No more than usual these days."

"Okay, since apparently you don't want to talk about it, how about I remind you that I'm blind, not stupid?" Sommerfield's face creased into an expression of irritation, which didn't help with Abby's guilt. But then Sommerfield sighed, obviously taking Abby's guilty silence as offence.

"Talk about it or don't talk about it, it's your call, Whistler." The irritation faded from Sommerfield's face, replaced by something as close to sympathy as the other woman ever got. "If it's any help, I've already guessed what it's about. King."

"What makes you think it's about King?"

"Lately everything with you has been about King."

The words stung and Abby shifted uncomfortably. "I'm sorry..."

Sommerfield huffed under her breath, and her expression heading back towards irritated. "Did I say I was complaining? I'm worried about you, Abby. You've been quiet, even for you, ever since..."

"Ever since King sold us out," Abby completed quietly.

Sommerfield tilted her head, her expression thoughtful. She'd obviously caught something in Abby's voice again, but this time it was something that Abby herself wasn't even aware of. Certainly, Abby couldn't think of anything in her tone - or her voice - that would be interesting enough to garner that much attention.

"Huh," Sommerfield said. "You don't actually believe that."

The blood rushed to Abby's face, leaving her flushed with mingled shame and anger. "I'm not stupid either," she said heatedly, trying not to think about how it was a lie. "I know what he did."

"You know or Frank knows?"

Abby bit her tongue. It took some effort, but it was pointless. Silence had never stopped Sommerfield before. The other woman's expression stayed thoughtful, as though Abby was one of her biological conundrums, one that Sommerfield intended to solve.

"Frank's seldom wrong when it comes to vamps," Sommerfield said, sounding like she was simply exercising her intellectual curiosity instead of talking about someone whose actions had killed two of their friends. "Of course, he's missing something important."

"What's that?" Abby kicked herself as soon as the words were out of her mouth, but by then it was too late; Sommerfield's lips curled up in a small but triumphant smile.

"King's not a vampire anymore, is he?"

It didn't make King's betrayal any easier to bear, at least not as far as Abby was concerned.

"He sold us out," she repeated, hoping that this time there was more conviction in her voice.

Sommerfield clicked her tongue against her teeth, her expression still considering, as though she was weighing up Abby, considering all of the angles and all of the options the way that she did in her work.

"Okay," Sommerfield continued cautiously. "But you know... if you need a sounding board..." A brief spasm of something close to grief crossed her face only to fade away again. "I used to bounce ideas off Selena all of the time. It helps."

Maybe it was the mention of Velasquez that cut through Abby's silence. "I trusted him," she said quietly, and the words hung in the space between them. "I shouldn't have. I know that now and I'm not about to make the same mistake again."

Sommerfield shrugged. "Hindsight's always twenty-twenty, Whistler. You weren't the only one King took in."

Maybe not, but he'd made the call on her watch, hadn't he?

"It's just..."

"Yes?" Sommerfield turned her head in Abby's direction again. "Abby?"

"I can't make it make sense." The words came out in a rush, because if she stopped to think about it, she'd bite them back again, hold them deep inside her and never let them out, just let them continue to fester. "Why let us cure him if he was just going to go back to Danica? Familiars are only in it for the immortality, and he already had that."

Sommerfield shrugged dismissively. "He figured being human is better than being dead. And then somewhere along the way he decided he didn't like being human that much. Put in a call to his psycho ex-girlfriend."

That didn't make sense either, not from what King had said about Danica, unless every single thing he'd told her was a lie. It had to have been, but she couldn't let it go. He'd ripped her fucking heart out of her chest and some part of her needed to make sense of it.

"What if it was a setup from the start?" she asked, feeling her way through it.

"But if that was the case, someone had to know we were looking to test a cure. And they had to know about it before King had a chance to sell us out." Sommerfield frowned, something obviously falling into place for her. "That's why you've limited our supply pool," she hazarded. "You think it was a setup."

"Maybe there's another explanation," Abby said quietly, reluctantly. She didn't need to elaborate because Sommerfield nodded again.

"You still think that maybe King wasn't the one who betrayed us," she said, a pitying expression on her face. The sight of it twisted unpleasantly in Abby's stomach, leaving something like grief and like hate behind, something too big to pull out into the light of day and look at. "There's another explanation, you know," Sommerfield continued. "Something you haven't thought of."

She shouldn't ask. Velasquez and Mick were dead, and King was gone. Poking at the wounds wasn't going to help them heal, but she just kept being stupid.

"What?"

"Maybe no one sold us out. Danica was looking for him, did you know that? That's one of the little bits of intel your father fed to Frank." She aimed a considering look in Abby's general direction. "I'm guessing that's one of the little bits of intel Frank didn't see fit to share with you."

No, he hadn't.

"Your third option is that he didn't sell us out, but she found him anyway." Sommerfield shrugged again, obviously losing interest as the siren call of her viral research exerted itself. "That would explain the clan mark."

She said it so calmly, as if it didn't mean anything. As if it really was just an intellectual exercise as far as she was concerned.

"If that's true," Abby said quietly, "then we left him there for Danica Talos to find."

" **If** that's true," Sommerfield said pointedly, "then it's water under the goddamned bridge and there's nothing we can do about it. Either she has him or she doesn't. Either way, he's not our problem anymore."

Except Danica didn't have him yet, and he was never going to stop being Abby's problem. But Abby stayed silent, trying not to cling to the hope that Sommerfield had given her. It was hard, so fucking hard not to reach out and grasp it with both hands.

"It wasn't your fault, Abby," Sommerfield said eventually, obviously aware on some level that she was still standing there. There was a weird kind of gentleness in Sommerfield's voice, so different from her normal brisk demeanour with everyone but Zoë, and it was almost unbearable, sliding through all of the chinks in Abby's armour until she couldn't breathe with it. "No one blames you, not me and certainly not Frank."

No one else needed to blame her, not when she was perfectly capable of blaming herself.

-o-

Estevez wasn't working out, but it seemed like Frank was the only one who couldn't see it.

Even Abby found dealing with the man frustrating, especially coming after King's focus and dedication. Estevez wasn't willing to listen to Abby when she pointed out where he needed to improve. He barely even listened to Dex, and Dex had wells of patience that Abby had never seen plumbed until now.

Estevez needed to listen: he was clumsy, arrogant, and much slower at picking things up than King had been. Even when he listened to Dex, he still managed to screw things up nine times out of ten, almost as though he thought that most of what they were trying to teach him was an unnecessary distraction from his real purpose.

The only thing he was interested in was guns, and he spent hours on the range, firing shot after shot into the targets until he could hit them dead centre, his face set and his eyes burning.

His attitude stunk and, more than that, it worried her. It worried her more that Frank either couldn't or didn't want to see what was right in front of him. But Abby knew her limitations, and that meant that she ended up avoiding Estevez as much as possible, leaving Dex to bear the brunt of his training. She told Dex it was because Estevez had some old-fashioned notions about women, despite being only a couple of years older than she was, and Abby had had enough of dealing with that kind of bullshit for one lifetime. In reality, it was the rawness of Estevez's grief that drove her out of their base as much as humanly possible.

She had her own grief to work through, and she did it with a blade, not a gun. There was something viscerally satisfying about sliding her sharp, silver knife into some vamp's torso and watching them explode into dust and ash around her. It probably wasn't healthy, but it had been a long time since she'd given a fuck about that.

She spent most of the time she wasn't killing vamps slowly building up their network of contacts, spiralling out from the Yavaris and building up a web of trust. Frank had his own network, but some twitchy little feeling in the back of her brain told Abby she'd be better off not relying on it. None of them were immortal, not even Frank, and if he died, the chances were that his network would die with him. Plus, it gave her the chance to put her feelers out, find out a little more about Danica Talos, ferret out all of the stuff that Frank didn't know or wasn't willing to share. Asking about King was just about putting the Talos clan into perspective, not about whether or not he was still breathing, that was all.

Even she wasn't buying into that lie, but it was easy to compartmentalise it: anything she found out about vampire activities, particularly about the Talos clan, she passed to Frank; any information she found out about King she kept to herself, hoarding every little piece greedily. It wasn't much, but each little snippet, each sighting or rumour, told her that King was still alive.

Frank listened to her intel and nodded in all the right places, but she was pretty sure that she wasn't imagining how tense he grew or how distracted he became with every little piece of information she fed him about Danica. She thought she got it; it wasn't that she didn't understand what he was saying about the Talos clan being too big for them, too dangerous for them to tackle. It was that she didn't agree with him.

After all, King was out there somewhere, and he seemed determined to take Danica Talos down all on his own.

-o-

"Whistler." Frank's voice caught her attention, stopping her in her tracks. "You got plans tonight?"

Once she might have tried to crack a joke, even if jokes weren't her forte. Now she simply kept her silence, weighing up her answer before she finally said, "I was planning on hitting the warehouse district. There's been some vamp activity down there. Dead bodies turning up. Cops think it's a drugs turf war."

She didn't know why she was elaborating; it felt too much like she had to explain herself to Frank, and Frank was seldom interested in her explanations these days, too distracted and weighed down by the past.

"Put it on hold," he said, scrubbing his hand across his face tiredly. "I've got some intel on another mobile blood bank, somewhere around East Fifty-First and Broadway." He gave her a wry look. "I've also got dead bodies turning up, but this op moves about regularly. May not be there tomorrow so we need to hit it while our information is fresh."

She nodded, already mentally adjusting that night's plan of attack. "What do you need me to do?"

Frank treated her to a relieved look, and the brief flash of gratitude on his face left her shifting uncomfortably. "We need to canvass the area," he said. "Make sure we find it. Which means we need to double up." He paused for a moment before adding, "That means we need to take Estevez out with us."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?"

She regretted the words as soon as they were out of her mouth, but it was too late. Frank's eyes suddenly hardened into flinty agate, all of the camaraderie between them disappearing as rapidly as it had arisen.

"And you're such a good judge of when someone's ready."

It shouldn't have hurt - she'd had months to get used to the idea, to learn to live with the guilt - but the words burned anyway. But then she'd also had months to get used to the pain. It didn't stop her any longer. It barely even slowed her down.

"Estevez is a loose cannon, Frank," she said, keeping her voice low and urgent. "He barely listens to Dex, he sure as hell doesn't listen to me. He just wants to kill vamps -"

"And that's a bad thing now?" Frank interrupted.

"If he's more concerned about that than whether or not he gets anyone else killed, yes."

The look in Frank's eyes was rancorous, but he didn't bring up King. He didn't need to; King's name hung in the air between them anyway, something that pushed them even further apart.

"We take Estevez anyway," he said, his tone making it clear that there was to be no more argument. "He either shapes up, or he ships out. We can't coddle him any longer. We haven't got the resources to counsel him past his trauma, or whatever the fuck you think is going on with him. Understood?"

She nodded, her eyes never leaving his face. "Understood. And he's going to get himself or one of us killed. Do you understand that, Frank?"

His nostrils flared dangerously. "Chain of command, Whistler. You do as you're told or you find another crew."

He'd never dished out that threat before. In fact, it was the first time he'd threatened Abby at all. But she didn't let any of her dismay show on her face. Instead, she held his eyes for long moments before barking, "Yes, sir." She didn't snap off a salute - that was what King would have done - but it was a close thing and she doubted Frank missed that.

He took a step back, but there was no anger in his eyes, not this time; instead there was a strange kind of grief, something that wasn't bitter but bottomless. But he still didn't back down. He simply nodded, once, sharp and full of things she couldn't measure. "If he doesn't listen to you, Whistler, then you need to **make** him listen. You're not shy about sharing your opinions, and you're sure as hell not shy about arguing your corner." There was a hard and harsh kind of respect in Frank's voice, something uncompromising. "So man up, and kick his ass if you need to."

She nodded, unwilling to push the point any further. There was going to be no changing Frank's mind, not on this.

"What's the plan?" she asked instead, and for a second she thought she'd overstepped that boundary there, too, judging by the way that Frank's eyes narrowed. She was tired of walking on eggshells around him, wishing that things would just get back to normal.

"I need you out there with Estevez," he said and then, when she started to object, he cut her off. "You've got a hell of a better chance of reining him than Dex or me. He won't pull any macho bullshit with you; he's got nothing to prove and..."

"You're saying that me being female is going to work in my favour?" She didn't bother to hide her scepticism. "Me being female is the problem, Frank."

"You don't know that. He'll... Look, Whistler, we both know what happened to Estevez. You think he won't feel the need to watch out for you?"

"I think I don't need looking after."

Frank nodded. "I'm sure you don't. But maybe he does and if he's partnered with you, there's a better chance he'll hang back."

She still wasn't happy with it and it wasn't like she was hiding it, but it seemed that Frank wasn't in the mood to listen to any of her objections, which was pretty much status quo. "Fine," she bit out, keeping her irritation in check as far as she could.

The ever-present tension around his eyes eased fractionally. "We'll split into two teams so we can cover more ground, see if we can't find these fuckers and take them out. They're not clan - shouldn't prove too difficult, taking out some low level leeches." He paused then added, "You may not even get to see any action tonight." It felt like a peace offering, and she took it gratefully.

"If I don't get any action tonight," she groused, "I'm hitting the warehouse district. On my **own**."

That earned her a reluctant smile from Frank, which was better than she'd hoped for. "Count on it," he said. "We leave at twenty-two hundred. Be ready."

She'd have to be, since it didn't seem like she had a choice.


	9. Chapter 9

Thirty minutes into their night-time sortie and Estevez was already chomping at the bit. There was a hard edge to his impatience, something razor sharp and raw that had her fighting the urge to bash his head against the wall. Instead, she gritted her teeth and cursed Frank Reilly's name as she clung to every scrap of patience she could find, focusing on the mission instead. The mission was the important thing. Her blood pressure would just have to wait.

She had to keep Estevez on a tight leash as they moved through the streets and alleys, canvassing the area in a logical progression. She wasn't going to let his impatience - or his rapidly deteriorating language - get to her. She was ice, unmoved and unyielding, and if she ended up having to freeze his hot tempered ass, she'd do just that.

Hunting something like a blood bank wasn't like popping a few vamps in the subway. It was always a long game so she wasn't surprised when they found nothing at first, but Estevez's impatience grew with each dead end. His attitude did nothing to convince her that Frank was right about him being ready, but when they reached the fifth building they checked - a newly constructed and supposedly empty office building judging by the signs outside - there were lights on inside.

It could have been nothing - cleaners, security, maybe even the architect doing whatever the hell it was that architects did - but it was worth checking out and it wasn't as though they'd had any other leads this evening. A brief recon of the building found her a back door, something that would be a service entrance when the building was occupied, and the locks on it were flimsy and no match for her picks. There were no alarms installed, not yet. She hadn't expected any, but it paid to be careful and so she still hesitated, listening hard and ignoring Estevez's impatient hiss while she double checked that there was no one in the vicinity before she slipped inside.

They moved slowly through the dark interior of the building, Estevez practically standing on her heels, he was so impatient to see some action. She was about ready to abandon the whole thing as a bust when she finally heard voices and motioned for Estevez to stop, holding up a finger to keep him silent.

He subsided, sending her a glare that she also ignored as she strained her ears to catch more of the conversation.

The voices were too distant, too muffled for her to make out, and she bit her lip in frustration, only hesitating for a moment as she scoped out what she could see of the rest of the building. There were stairs to the left. Unlike the rest of the building so far, they were dimly lit and seemed a likely prospect. She darted up them, keeping her steps light and with Estevez still hard on her heels. It took her to a landing, one that oversaw the rest of the foyer, high class for the neighbourhood, something in minimalist steel and glass. She guessed it was pretty, but she was less concerned with that than the fact that the style meant there was no cover.

She dropped to her knees, motioning for Estevez to do likewise, and this time he didn't argue but dropped awkwardly where she'd pointed. He was finally paying attention to her, his dark eyes fixed on her, but he was still too eager for her peace of mind.

She couldn't dwell on it now, not when she had other things to focus on. She paused for a moment, listening hard to the movements below, but nothing in the low hum of voices gave her any immediate cause for alarm. They hadn't been spotted yet, but they hadn't spotted anything else either, which meant it was make or break time. She lowered herself to her stomach and wormed her way closer to the edge, moving as silently as she could and staying low and out of sight. When she reached the railings she stopped and listened again, not risking raising her head until she was sure her movements hadn't been overheard.

The lights she'd seen from outside had come from the foyer below, and when she peered over the edge there were dark clad figures down there, their stances tight and focused. She counted six before she ducked her head back down again, her mind busy cataloguing and assessing what she'd seen. They were armed, which was enough cause for alarm, but they were carrying semiautomatic pistols, which wasn't like any kind of building security she was familiar with. At least two of them were also carrying larger semi-automatic rifles and that, combined with the fact that they all wore earpieces, told her they were professionals, or at least liked to think they were. It also meant that they were in contact with someone, and probably taking orders from that same someone.

This wasn't a small-time op, no matter what Frank's sources had said. This was one of the clans - it had to be given the levels of human security below. Only one of the larger clans could afford that much heavily armed muscle, because they sure as hell weren't on any landlord's payroll.

Estevez took advantage of her distraction, crawling up beside her and sticking his own stupid head over the parapet. He raised his weapon and she pushed it down, glaring at him and resisting the urge to smack some sense into him. Tempting as it was, it wouldn't work, not judging by the way that his jaw was tightly clenched and his eyes were burning fiercely.

Instead she jerked her head towards the back of the landing, holding his gaze and staring him down until he shuffled back reluctantly, constantly casting heated looks back in the direction of the armed goons. She stole a last look herself before following him.

"They're vamps," he hissed in her ear as soon as she'd caught up to him. "Why aren't we taking them out?"

"Because they're not vamps," she whispered back, casting another look back towards the edge of the landing. "They're human."

"They're familiars," he snarled. "Fucking vermin. We should take them out anyway."

"Before we know why they're here?" Even though she was still whispering, she didn't bother to hide the contempt in her voice and Estevez's nostrils flared dangerously. "You know where their owners are? What they're up to?"

He didn't but he refused to acknowledge his own ignorance, simply staring at her, his eyes flashing.

"No, I didn't think so. The plan hasn't changed. We find out what we can first, **then** we decide whether or not we're taking them out."

He looked like he wanted to argue further, but she cut him off with a hand gesture before he could, holding his eyes as she stabbed a warning finger back towards the railings. He subsided, looking resentful, but she didn't give a shit how he felt about it. The important thing was that he did what he was told and kept quiet.

With Estevez finally under control, she could focus on the best way to proceed. She chewed at her lip, her eyes rapidly scanning the rest of the building, or at least as much of it as she could see from their precarious position. The building wasn't large; that much she been able to tell from outside. It was only three, maybe four storeys high, but it still had elevators, and there was one on either side of the balcony they were hiding on.

It was a bad position, and not just because they risked being seen from the foyer below. If anyone decided to make a visit to this floor, they'd be trapped like rats.

She headed back towards the stairs, making a 'follow me' gesture in Estevez's direction. He scowled at her, her earlier abruptness obviously not having been forgiven, but since he fell into step behind her just like she wanted she ignored his bad temper as she led the way. At least if she went first she could head him off before he could do something stupid.

There was no point in heading down. As much as she hated the idea of being trapped by the goons below, they weren't ever going to figure out what was going on without searching the rest of the building, at least superficially. That left up, and Estevez wasn't the only one who wasn't happy about it.

Their luck held. While the stairwells were lit, there were no lights on any of the other floors, nothing to indicate that any of the rooms were occupied, at least not tonight. Vampires could see better in the dark than humans, but they were no fonder of working in pitch black than any human Abby had ever met. That told her that any action happening tonight must be downstairs in the foyer, which also told her where they needed to be.

Estevez glowered at her when her hand gestures indicated that they should both descend the stairs again, but she was getting good at ignoring him. She pushed past him, leading the way while he slunk sullenly behind her.

She took her time, checking every doorway and pausing frequently to scan the area even though she was hyperaware of Estevez snapping at her heels. The rooms had been clear when they'd gone up, but that was no guarantee that they'd still be clear on the way down, and Estevez needed to understand that. And her caution was proven right - they reached the balcony again without incident, but as she slipped through the final door, still on the alert, she heard the steady tap of footsteps against the marble floor in the foyer below and the low murmur of voices again.

At least one of the voices was new - higher pitched, sharp and demanding. Abby couldn't make out the words, but there was no mistaking that the speaker was female. Vamps were traditionalist when it came to their muscle, and given the way this new woman was snapping out orders, she wasn't a familiar either. That left only one possibility, and Abby's mouth curled up in a small, triumphant smile.

Gotcha.

She threw up her hand again, stopping Estevez in his tracks and gesturing for him to hold back while she scouted closer to the edge of the railings. She got a belligerent look in return and it was beyond getting old. No matter what Frank's views were, no way was she taking Estevez out with her again unless he underwent a major attitude adjustment.

But she'd deal with that later. Right now her priority was the vamps below.

She edged toward the railing, keeping close to the wall, her hand on her weapon. If there were still only six down there plus the vamp, maybe she and Estevez could take them out from up here. If not... well, vamps were no better at looking up than humans were, and as long as she kept quiet, they probably wouldn't see her. And if they did, she'd have a better chance of getting out of sight before they could do anything about it if she was on her feet.

But when she peered over the edge, there wasn't just one vamp down in the foyer - there were several, and they'd brought their own toy soldiers along.

She ducked back out of sight, swearing copiously under her breath. Instead of six armed security guards, there were at least fifteen to twenty now, and she'd spotted at least five vamps, easily singled out by their lack of uniform and atrocious dress sense.

Estevez was waiting by the doorway, glaring at her impatiently. She slipped back towards him on soundless feet, her heart racing fast in her chest and the adrenaline already surging through her as she led him back into the stairwell.

"We got trouble," she said briefly, paying more attention to her gun than to Estevez. Her fingers, she was pleased to note, weren't shaking; instead they were steady, and her palms stayed dry. "Familiars, a lot of them. More than we can safely handle."

"Any vamps?" he asked, his voice low and intense. There was something in his tone that made her wary, something that had her hesitating before she finally nodded her head.

It was the wrong choice. Estevez's eyes lit up with an unholy light, his muscles tensing in a way that tipped her off. She grabbed hold of his jacket, but her fingers slipped away before she could sink them into the fabric and he hurled himself down the stairs with no thought of his own safety, his face twisted in an inhuman snarl.

She swore, not bothering to keep her voice quiet, not when Estevez was already screaming out his fury, a long, wordless bellow of rage as he burst through the doorway below, his guns blasting before he'd even managed to lock onto a target.

He didn't seem to care about not getting himself killed, and it was fucked in the head that Abby did.

She leapt the last few steps, hitting the ground at a run and charging through the door after him.

In spite of the noise Estevez had made, he'd still managed to take some of them by surprise. There were three down - humans judging by the blood that was spreading across the floor. Estevez had hit the first one in the head. Abby stepped over the ruins of his face, coolly targeting one of his fellow goons, who'd recovered enough to bring his weapon around to bear on Estevez. She fired twice and he went down, clutching his throat, blood spurting through his fingers.

Normally she came alive during this part, riding the wave of adrenaline surging through her, leaving her loose limbed and fluid. But there was no time to get into that zone, not when Estevez took a bullet high in his shoulder, the force of the impact spinning him around. It didn't stop him. He straightened up, still howling, spittle flying from his mouth.

She was on his attackers before they knew she was there, taking down the first familiar with a bullet in the chest, knocking him back several feet as the jacketed round impacted with his Kevlar vest. She kicked the second one in the face, moving in to block the blow aimed by the third and using her momentum to spin him around, shielding herself from the bullets sprayed in her direction with his body.

Somewhere behind and to the left of her Estevez screamed again, his voice full of hatred and wordless with it. She turned towards him just as a familiar shot in her direction again. The bullet ripped through the sleeve of her shirt leaving a line of fire in its wake.

She swore, spinning on her heels and putting a silver hollowpoint into the brain of the snarling vamp who had launched himself at Estevez. Her aim was off; she'd been aiming for his chest but at least she'd hit him.

She swapped her gun to her left hand, pulling out her silver blade with her right. Her arm burned, but she pushed the pain out of her mind, moving past it and focusing on keeping the pair of them alive.

Estevez was still screaming, lost in his fury, and she heard the snap-snap as he fired indiscriminately, his bullets ricocheting around the room. She turned towards him, keeping low and moving fast as the bullets whined overhead, but a black figure lurched into her path, blocking her and hiding Estevez from view. She ducked, bringing her knife up to slide it neatly underneath the Kevlar vest the familiar wore and sink it into his stomach. Blood spilled over her hand, and the knife slipped in her grip she pulled it free. He let out a grunt of surprise but it didn't stop him from punching her in the side of the head, the blow hard enough to snap her head back on her neck and leave her ears ringing.

She staggered back as he caught hold of her hair, sinking cruel fingers into it and pulling her towards him as he aimed another punch at her face. This time she managed to deflect it with her forearm so that the blow glanced off her forehead, ignoring the sharp, stabbing pain that flared in her arm as she drove her knife back into him, into his neck this time.

It sank in several inches and he dropped like a stone, his blood soaking her hand past the wrist. The sharp, metallic scent of it hit the back of her throat, making her eyes smart.

She left him where he fell, already scanning the chaos around her for Estevez, her eyes frantic and her heart pounding fast and fierce in her chest.

Estevez had stopped screaming, which did nothing to reassure her that he was still alive. She moved forward, taking down familiars as she went, her eyes constantly skimming the crowd, searching him out. When she finally located him, his face was grim and set, sheer madness burning in his eyes. His t-shirt was soaked with blood, and some of it was his. There were two neat holes in the fabric, high on his chest.

It wasn't slowing him down; he'd locked onto his target and it seemed that nothing was going to stop him, not even bullet holes.

His target was staring back at him, her head raised haughtily and her expression contorted into a look of ice-cold rage. Abby caught a brief glimpse of high heels and higher, teased hair, of a tight black dress and perfectly made up face, distorted by those sharp, snarling fangs, before another vamp was in her face, howling as he knocked her down onto the floor.

She landed on her hip, crying out as a sharp pain dug into her flesh and tasting blood as her teeth caught against the inside of her mouth. She automatically brought her legs up to push away the vamp as he rushed her, and it was only that automatic move that saved her. He was big, brutal, all muscle and very little in the way of brains. She drove her silver knife straight into his chest when he rushed her again, and he exploded into ash and dust around her.

Sliding her arms underneath her, she pushed herself to her feet, limping as the pain in her hip caught up with her. She refused to let it slow her down, already back to scanning the room for Estevez.

It was too late; he was already dead even if he didn't know it yet. The female vamp had her fangs sunk deep into his neck, tearing out his throat rather than feeding. Her eyes met Abby's, her face smeared into a macabre red mask as she let Estevez drop to the floor like a hunk of meat.

Pure fury flashed through Abby and she brought her gun up, swinging it to bear on the bitch in front of her. But before she could fire, something hard and heavy slammed into her back, knocking her onto the floor again, her weapon jerked out of her fingers and skittering across the floor.

Whoever had her pinned was snarling, and she could feel the heat of his breath against the back of her neck. It stank, heavy with the scent of old blood, and she slammed her elbow up, catching him in the side of the neck. He loosened his grip briefly and she took advantage of it to wriggle away as far as she could, rolling onto her back so that she could fight with both feet and fists.

He punched her in the face, only the fact that she jerked her head away from him at the last moment saving her from a broken nose. Instead his fist slid along her cheekbone, leaving another wave of fire in its wake before it slammed into the floor.

He howled, a sound of mingled pain and rage, his fangs flashing as he lunged for her again. This time she drove the steel-capped toe of her boot into his groin and he doubled over. Male vamps were as vulnerable to that as any sleaze ball of a human.

She rolled over onto her side, trying to push herself up and put some distance between them, but her wounded arm buckled underneath her weight and she fell to the floor again with a gasp, cursing under her breath.

The vamp hurled himself at her again, incandescent with fury and howling out his rage. She scrabbled away from him towards her gun, but before she could reach it, it was kicked away from her by a pair of very expensive, very high heels.

When Abby looked up, the woman was smirking down at her, Estevez's blood still smeared across her face and down over her chin. Only her teeth shone whitely in the gory mask as her mouth curled up into a vicious grin. She swooped down, sinking her fingers into Abby's hair and hauling her upright.

Abby twisted, driving her fist into the vampire's stomach and earning herself a screech of rage. The vampire grabbed at Abby's wrist before she could land a second blow, gripping it tightly enough for the bones to click and grate as she dragged Abby closer to her, her mouth now curled into a grimace of hatred.

"You're going to regret that, you bitch!"

Abby had no idea where her knife was. She was left resorting to older, more vicious moves, smacking her forehead into the vampire's face and hearing the crunch as the cartilage in the bitch's nose gave way under her onslaught. Vampires healed fast, but that didn't mean they didn't feel pain; she'd learned that much from King.

The vampire staggered back, both hands flying to her flattened nose. The blood flowing down her face now wasn't all Estevez's, and Abby took a certain savage satisfaction in that.

She moved back a few steps, giving herself some room to manoeuvre. She meant to kick her quarry in the head and finish destroying that artfully made up face, but she'd forgotten about the other vamp, the one who'd originally taken her down. He hadn't, however, forgotten about her. His arms clamped around her chest, hard as iron and just as unyielding. It didn't matter how much she kicked or how hard she jerked her head, slamming it back into his face, he just laughed, the sound ripping out of him and sinking its claws into her, leaving ice cold fear in its wake.

She dug her fingernails into the flesh of his arm, clawing wide, blood-filled grooves despite her nails being so short, but it did no good. He was too big, too strong and his grip simply tightened to the point where it drove the breath from her body, leaving her gasping for air as his fingers wrapped around her throat, twisted her head sideways so that he could get to her neck.

Please God, let him kill her, not turn her.

Black spots danced in front of her eyes, the room spinning as her lungs burnt and her chest heaved frantically, fighting for the next breath that wouldn't come. He drew it out cruelly, chuckling low in her ear as though he was getting off on it, each kick and punch she aimed at him only making it all the more enjoyable. And the weaker her struggles grew, the more pleasure he took in it.

She made one last, desperate lunge forward, trying to break his grip, slamming her heel down onto the top of his boot. Her boots were steel-toed and heavy; his were not and he howled in pain, his grip loosening momentarily. She took advantage of it, shifting all of her weight forward as she pushed herself away from him as hard as she could.

She finally broke free - he grabbed for her but he wasn't able to pull her back and she fell forward, landing with a jar on her hands and knees and scooting away as fast as she could. The howl he let out this time was one of rage, but when she looked up, it was the woman who was surging towards her, tottering on those ridiculous shoes, her face twisted up with anger and spite.

Abby rolled to the side just in time to avoid those sharp-heeled shoes slamming down onto her fingers, but that simply pushed her back into the path of the male vamp, whose eyes lit up with a malevolent kind of glee as he stalked towards her.

"Time to pay up, bitch," he snarled, flashing his fangs in a smile that was all shark-toothed hunger. He leaned in towards her, mouth gaping and eyes burning, and then he exploded as someone shot him from behind.

Abby flung up her hand automatically, shielding her face from the dust that blasted over her. Somewhere behind her, the woman shrieked with rage, the sound rising until Abby's eardrums rang with it.

Someone stepped through the ash, a dark shape with dark hair. Abby could barely make him out, not with her eyes burning and her throat smarting as she choked on the taste of dead vamp, but even so, the shape of him and the way he moved was all too familiar, even if the dark shadow of the beard on his face was not.

The woman's voice rose, seeming even angrier now, growing into an ululating howl that bordered on madness. Abby was forgotten as the vamp lunged at the man now standing over her. Before she could attack, someone else loomed out of the chaos, someone tall and blond, too pale and with too sharp teeth to be anything but vamp. He caught hold of the woman around the waist and pulled her away, ignoring the infuriated blows she rained on his head and shoulders and the way she struggled to free herself, her face turned towards Abby and contorted into an ugly, inhuman mask.

"Fucking kill you," she screamed, her eyes bulging and spittle flying from her mouth as her companion dragged her away. "I'll fucking kill you, King!"

King raised his weapon again, ignoring Abby as he aimed it at the still shrieking vampire, but her male companion barked out orders, ones Abby couldn't make out in the cacophony of yelling and gunfire. The few of his lackeys still living had heard him, however, and they fell in behind him, blocking King and cutting him off while the vampires made their escape. King was forced to dive for cover, skidding across the blood-soaked floor. Abby went in the opposite direction, flailing for her gun and bringing it around to bear on the familiar who had King pinned down.

She hit him in the chest, sending him flying, and King returned the favour, taking out the muscle-bound meathead trying to gun her down. The vamp's backup was rapidly diminishing in number, and she took advantage of the lull to crawl over to where Estevez was still sprawled on the floor.

She'd been right - Estevez was dead, his face slack and his eyes dull, the gaping wound in his throat mute testimony to the savagery of the vamp who'd killed him. She took a moment to lean in and press his eyelids closed, his blood soaking into the leather of her pants and staining the skin of her hands. He hadn't deserved this, but perhaps this was what he'd wanted.

"Abby!"

King grabbed at her, his fingers slipping away from her slick leather at first before he finally got a grip on her and dragged her to her feet. "We have to leave. Now!" He spun on the balls of his feet again, the move jerking her sideways as he fired off another couple of rounds, scattering the guards behind them. She could hear the woman still shrieking King's name, the sound almost incoherent with fury, and King's face tightened as he hesitated, staring off in the direction in which the two vamps had retreated. But then he swore, wrapping his free arm around Abby's waist and yanking her in the opposite direction, towards the exit.

She staggered, off-balance as he dragged her over the corpses of the familiars they'd killed. Here and there was a small pile of ash, all that was left of the vamps they'd wasted, but those piles were depressingly few and they'd cost Estevez his life.

A bullet whined overhead, and she ducked instinctively, her hand coming up to protect her head. King was already there, shielding her with his body as he half-dragged, half-carried her, scattering bullets behind them as he laid down a covering fire, not even bothering to look where he was aiming. The threat, however, was enough to keep the few remaining humans off their backs and the vamps had already fled. She'd have enjoyed that if she thought that she was the one they feared.

King hit the door with his shoulder and it flew open with a bang as they spilled out into the cool night air. He jerked suddenly, stumbling and throwing her off-balance again, but then he straightened up, dragging her out of the way so that he could slam the door shut.

There was no time for Abby to catch her breath, not when the familiars behind them would already be regrouping. She glanced both ways down the alley, somehow expecting to see Frank and Dex, as though they could possibly have heard the gunfire from wherever they were. But she and King were alone, nothing but the rapidly approaching sound of footsteps as the cockroaches finally found their courage.

"This way," King snapped out, reaching out to grab hold of her wrist again, his eyes focused on the far end of the alley, the opposite direction from where she and Estevez had come. She shook him off, pulling her hand back towards her body and cradling it carefully as though on some level she was afraid that he'd make another grab for her. He stopped in his tracks and gave her a disbelieving look. "You want to do this now, Whistler?" There was a shout from the interior of the building. She couldn't make out what was said, but it didn't sound good, and King licked at his lips, glancing back at the door they'd exited nervously.

"Any second now," he said, leaning in and dropping his voice urgently, "some heavily armed goons are going to burst through that door and try to put a couple of bullets in our heads. I'd kind of like to not be here when that happens."

She still hesitated, glancing back towards the doorway herself, torn between facing the danger behind and facing King.

"Jesus, Whistler." He ran his hand through his hair, leaving it sticking up in disarray. And then he seemed to reach a decision, reaching out again and pushing her this time, not grabbing her, but still managing to steer her in the direction he wanted. "You can kick my ass later if you want, but right now it's Splitsville."

She stopped resisting. She couldn't resist him, and that was a hell of a bigger problem than vamps.

-o-

King was parked three blocks over, and for those three blocks, the only sound she heard was the slap of their feet on the pavement, rapid but not running, never running. That kind of thing attracted attention and with her clothes still covered in Estevez's blood and with King with his weapon still drawn, attention was the last thing they needed.

Being hunted instead of hunting on the moon-drenched streets left her feeling twitchy and vulnerable, and King wasn't helping. She'd expected his normal constant stream of chatter, not this quiet and focused façade. He looked different as well, like a stranger, and she was left feeling awkward and uncomfortable, everything that had happened hanging between them. Not that she'd ever been any good at filling in gaps in the conversation anyway.

When they finally arrived at King's truck and he reached for the door, she hung back, still not trusting him entirely. Still not trusting herself when it came down to it, not with him. There was no doubt that her judgement was impaired when it came to King, and he didn't miss her hesitation. He paused with his hand still on the car door handle and glanced over at her, a question in his eyes. He looked tired, his face drawn and seeming older than she remembered, but perhaps that was just the effect of the beard. As looks went, it suited him, and the sight of him watching her, his dark eyes fixed on her face, hurt somewhere deep inside her.

She swallowed, fighting the urge to look away. She didn't want to show any sign of weakness, not to him, not when it seemed that he still had the ability to slip past all of her defences and hurt her, whether he intended to not. His lips parted as though he was about to say something, but then he shut his mouth again and simply stared at her, his fingers curled limply around the door handle.

She couldn't read his expression, not when the streetlights were behind him and not when her heart was still twisting painfully in her chest.

Lights swept around the corner and King ducked behind the body of his truck, reaching for Abby even as she followed his example, making herself as small as possible and hoping that they'd both dropped quickly enough. She pressed close to the metal curve of the fender, the condensation left by her breath blooming across the paintwork as her eyes met King's, which glittered as the light from the car roaring past pooled around them.

When the headlights had finally receded, King gingerly raised his head, checking out the streets for any stragglers, or any sign that they'd been spotted. The coast must have been clear because this time he didn't stop when he reached for the door handle, simply pulling the door open and waiting pointedly for her to climb inside.

In a choice between King and vamps, she'd take King every time and he knew that, but that didn't mean she had to be happy about it. He slid in after her, slamming the door shut and starting the engine.

"It's obviously not safe to be on the streets," he said, and then he hesitated for a moment. "I've got a bolthole close by." He glanced at her, his eyes jittering away again when she met his look with a blank one of her own. She didn't answer him, but he didn't seem to need one, putting the car into drive and pulling away from the curb. "It's the best option, at least for tonight," he added and she wasn't sure which one of them he was trying to convince.

If it was her, he'd failed. Logic had nothing to do with it. Being around King was hazardous for her heart if not her health.

She twisted in her seat, reaching into her back pocket to pull out her phone. There was a crack on the screen, a jagged little mark from one side to the other, and it wouldn't turn on. She guessed that explained the tender bruise on her hip. She must have landed on it.

King glanced over at her, and the lines around his mouth seemed to tighten as the streetlights flashed by. "There's a phone across the street from where we're going," he said. "Sometimes it even works." He kept his eyes fixed on the road as he gave her a little shrug. "If it's that important."

There was a question hidden in his sarcastic little remark, but she left it hanging there in the air between them, shoving her phone back into her pocket and folding her arms, staring out of the windscreen ahead.

His piece said, King stayed silent as he drove, eyes focused on the road and on scanning the streets; that was so unlike him that it kept her silent, too. It seemed he'd finally learned caution; more than once, he took a detour, his eyes frequently checking out his rear view mirror for signs of pursuit. And once he even pulled into a side street and turned off the lights, waiting until the only other car on the road had passed them by, his gun in his lap and his eyes watchful and wary.

Abby should have been watching the road, too. Instead, she watched King. It would have been easy to pretend it was because she still didn't trust him, and that she was simply watching for the first sign of betrayal, but she knew better than that.

So did King. When he finally took his eyes off the road, he met her gaze evenly, only his raised eyebrow giving away any of what he was thinking.

"How much further?" she asked to cover herself, hiding everything she felt behind small talk.

He shrugged, tearing his eyes away from her face to glance out at the main street again. "Not far." When he looked back at her, his eyes were shadowed, dim in the distant streetlights. "I don't think we're being followed, but it pays to be careful..."

He trailed off, obviously realising that she didn't need to hear it, not when she had plenty of her own experience to draw on. His shrug this time had a slightly apologetic air to it, but his eyes scanned over her face, like he was memorising her, maybe, or had missed her and was trying to re-familiarise himself with her features.

She flushed, feeling the blood rising slowly to her face, and glanced out through the windscreen into the darkness beyond, trying to get a hold of her overactive imagination. She was projecting, that was all. There was no reason to think that she was anything to King but convenient or useful.

"What were you doing there?" she asked, focusing on the task in hand.

"I could ask you the same question."

She shrugged, catching the move from him. "We were killing vamps."

"Not very successfully."

She shot him a look, not bothering to hide her anger, and he pulled a little face, the look in his eyes back to apologetic. It seemed real, genuine, but he'd fooled her that way before. She looked away again, glaring out into the darkness.

"I'm sorry about your friend," King offered tentatively, treading carefully around the subject. She wasn't sure if it was intended to be a peace offering, or whether he'd simply learned caution, but the comment still jarred. Maybe that wasn't fair of her, but she didn't feel like being fair, not with Estevez's blood still slicking her top, sticking it against her skin. She wanted out of here, somewhere she could clean up even if the guilt wasn't going to wash away as easily. It was stupid to feel guilty when Estevez had made his own bad decisions, but even knowing that didn't help.

King tapped his fingers impatiently against the steering wheel. She could feel the weight of his gaze on her, but she refused to turn and look at him, no matter what she owed him.

"Can I at least ask what the hell you were thinking?" he burst out suddenly. "I know you're good, Abby, but damn it... Just how many of those fuckers did you think you could take on?"

She wasn't going to explain herself, not to him. He sighed, and she heard the leather creak as he sank further down into his seat.

"Well, I guess we have the answer," he said and his tone was edging towards wryly amused, which was much more in keeping for him. "It was very impressive, actually, how many of them you managed to put down. I may even have taken notes."

Her jaw twitched; she wasn't sure if she wanted to laugh or smack him in the face. Maybe doing both would make her feel better, get rid of the guilt and the rage, and had the added plus of driving home the point that he shouldn't condescend to her.

"So..." King drawled out the word and she could picture the look on his face, the way he would be looking at her, even if she refused to turn her head and see it. "Do you want to talk about it?"

There was a pained kind of politeness in his voice, and that did make her laugh, and acerbic little chuckle that escaped in spite of her efforts to keep it in. "No," she said firmly. "Of course I don't want to talk about it."

"Okay." He didn't sound put out, but she wasn't surprised when, after a moment's hesitation, he asked, "So what was his story?"

There was more than just curiosity in his voice. There was something else, something lying underneath the surface that she couldn't read. She shouldn't have been surprised. King was nothing but layered.

There was no reason for her to tell him, no reason at all except for the fact that maybe it would get it straight in her own head. She could consider it practice for when she had to tell Frank, come up with her justifications in advance, which was another uncomfortable thought.

"Abby?"

She took a deep breath. "He lost his wife a couple of months ago." She said it quickly, so getting it out would get it over with. "She was pregnant."

King let out a low whistle. "Yeah, that would explain it."

"He just..." She trailed off, unable to put it into words, not clearly. "I couldn't stop him. He just... ran in there, guns blazing. It was like he wanted to die."

"Maybe he did." She glanced over at King in time to see him shrug. "Suicide by vamp."

That was one way of looking at it, she supposed. And there was a grain of truth in it, King seeing things clearly in the way that she couldn't, not when she was that close to it.

She opened her mouth to say something - anything - to acknowledge that he might have been right but before she could do more than that, a car rolled by the entrance to the alley, too slowly to be casual. She ducked down below the dash as the lights flared across King's car, her heart pounding and King mirroring her move. It looked like the vampires weren't planning on quitting any time soon, which set a suspicion forming slowly in her mind.

The car rolled away, leaving her and King in silence, and it was a silence that this time she broke, a lot less reluctantly than she might have done earlier.

"That was Danica, wasn't it? Back there."

He didn't answer her, not straightaway, and when she looked over at him, he was staring out of the windscreen, his expression tight and tense.

"Yeah," he said eventually and the word came out of him on a long exhale. "That was Danica. The blond guy was her brother, Asher. Nice family. You'd like them. Good neighbours. Always entertaining, you know? We should ask them over sometime."

She ignored his attempt at a brush off. "You've been hunting them." It wasn't a question, but he nodded anyway, still avoiding her eyes and watching the streets instead. If she could believe him, then the truth was better than she'd feared when she'd seen him striding through dust and ash, some small part of her wondering if King had arrived with vamps, been part of their party. Whether he'd crawled back to Danica with his tail between his legs after Frank had kicked him to the curb.

 **If** she could believe him. It was a big if, and she'd already been a fool more than once.

King started the engine again, the low, rumbling purr silencing anything else she might have said, if she could have thought of anything to say. But he still hesitated before he pulled out onto the road again, stealing another look at her, and this time his expression was all too readable. "Abby..."

She didn't want to hear it, didn't want the reminder of everything that had happened and of everything that hadn't. Didn't want to acknowledge the look in his eye, which hit far too close to home for comfort. "Thank you," she said instead, interrupting him. "For saving my life."

He fell silent and when she finally turned her head to look at him, unable to resist any longer, his expression had moved back to unreadable. After a moment he nodded, the look in his eyes staying veiled. "Well, you saved mine more than once."

"Then we're even." The words came out harshly, her voice a rasp as disappointment and grief warred within her. She hadn't been able to save Estevez, so what use was she?

"We're not even close." He sounded serious, and it sent a surge of anger through her, something she embraced because it was quick and clean, not like this mess. "You **saved me** , Whistler. Don't you get that?"

"I know what I got. I got two dead friends."

The muscle in his jaw tightened for a moment, but he didn't dispute it. It was just as well; she had no more arguments, not when they caught in her throat, burning and stinging in her eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said eventually. "I never wanted that."

"No." Again it wasn't a question, but he flinched minutely and turned his attention back to the road, his mouth set into a thin line. She'd killed their momentary camaraderie dead, but then she was good at killing things.

His place was small, little more than one room above a shop. There was a grill over the door, and a padlock on it that meant business; when King pulled out the key for it from his pocket, it wasn't the only key he had on the chain.

"Well, this is it," he said, waving her in expansively. "Home sweet home. Well, one of them anyway," he added, sounding cynical. She gave him a look and he caught it, his face twisting sheepishly.

"I've got several of these boltholes scattered across the city," he explained. "Most of them are disposable." He gave her a brief, searching look. "Including this one."

She had no idea whether that was intended to be a slam at her, but if so she refused to rise to the bait. Instead she looked around, automatically checking for all of the entry and exit points and pointedly ignoring the bed that dominated the room.

"There's a shower if you want it," he offered quietly. "I've got a t-shirt that might fit you, but not much else, I'm afraid. But, hey, you have that whole leather thing going on. I'm sure we can just wipe it down, get rid of..."

He trailed off, his brain finally catching up with his mouth, but by that point he didn't need to complete the rest of his sentence. His meaning was clear. He meant get rid of Estevez's blood.

Even if he'd had an ulterior motive, his suggestion was practical. She couldn't wander the streets bloodstained and shell-shocked, not when they'd left Estevez behind, surrounded by a pile of familiar corpses.

"I've got towels somewhere, as well," he said, turning away to rummage through one of the small cupboards. "And I promise I won't peek."

He dug out a t-shirt for her, as well, one that was large, grey and familiar. She wouldn't have been surprised if it really had been one of the ones she'd bought him, laundered to softness. Now that he was shopping for himself, the style of the top he was wearing under his Kevlar vest was completely different - dark and fitted, clinging to his lean, muscular frame in all the right places.

"Shower's that way." He nodded towards a door on the back wall. "If you pass your pants out, I'll wipe them down for you."

She gave him a look, raising one eyebrow, and he grinned, the expression wide and sudden, lighting up his face in a way that was too familiar to her. Her heart clenched, and whatever emotion showed on her face, it had his smile fading away again, the look in his dark eyes turning intense.

"Thanks," she said briefly, limiting herself to just that as she took the towel from his outstretched hand and made good her escape.

About all she could say for the shower was that the water was above tepid and that King kept it relatively clean. She didn't miss the signs of King scattered around the room: the toothbrush still in its wrapper; the razor lying neatly by the faucets; the deodorant stick, also unopened. It all added up to King not using this place often, and not staying overnight even if he did, but the medicine cabinet above the sink was neatly stocked with everything a hunter needed, from antiseptic cream to needle and thread.

She had a feeling he'd learned to keep that kind of stuff on hand the hard way, but she was simply delaying the inevitable, and there was no point in trying to do that any more. If nothing else, she strongly suspected that if she took too long, King would simply march in to check whether she was okay. At least, that would be his excuse, and so she pulled on her panties and dragged King's t-shirt over her head. Since her own shirt was beyond salvaging thanks to the rusty stains of Estevez's blood smeared across the fabric, she balled it up and shoved it into the small trashcan beside the sink. It would be King's problem now.

He looked up when she walked into the room. He was busy cleaning his gun at one of the work surfaces, and he'd taken off his Kevlar vest, hanging it over the back of the only chair in the room, the one pushed up against the table that obviously served as a desk. He'd painted a target on the back of the vest, and there was a grey mark scarring its surface, the hole left by a bullet impact. She froze, suddenly going cold as she remembered how he'd stumbled, shielding her body with his own.

"You finished with the shower?" King asked, but she ignored the question.

"Are you hurt?"

He blinked at her, obviously thrown by the question.

"You were hit," she said impatiently, flicking her fingers towards the tell-tale mark on his Kevlar vest. "Are you hurt?"

He shrugged, and she didn't miss his wince at the top of the move. "I'm fine," he said. "A little bruised, but I'll live. What about you?" He made a quick, abortive gesture towards her arm, where the red streak from her near miss marred her skin.

She gave it a quick, dismissive glance, turning her attention back to him almost immediately. "It's fine," she said flatly, but quelling King had never really worked. It didn't work this time either; he gave her a look that said everything he wasn't.

"Give me a second to clean up," he said, flashing his grease-stained hands at her, grimed with the grit from his gun, "and I'll see what I can do about patching you up."

She thought about arguing, but with vamps still on the hunt for them, she wasn't going anywhere any time soon. So she shrugged instead, avoiding his eyes by simple expedient of looking around the room.

He hesitated for a moment, as though he was expecting her to say something or wanted to say something himself, but when she refused to acknowledge him, he sighed and headed towards the bathroom, tugging his shirt over his head as he went.

She looked. She couldn't help it, her eyes drawn inexorably to his body. There were bruises scattered across on his torso, some old and yellowing but some new, including a red patch high on his shoulder that matched the mark on his Kevlar vest.

She tore her eyes away as he disappeared through the door, her fingers curling unconsciously into fists as she tried not to think about how, if the bullet had been just three or four inches higher, Estevez wouldn't have been the only body she would have had to leave behind. It was pointless to think about it, not when she'd spent far too much time dwelling on the past as it was. She needed distraction, and she pushed herself away from the table, exploring the small confines of the room and hoping for some insight into what King had been up to since she'd last seen him.

There were a few books here and there, which she'd expected given how voraciously he read, and while he'd said that he wasn't here often, it seemed like he didn't want to be separated for long from his reading material. But the titles of the books confused her - they were non-fiction, thick, weighty academic tomes whose titles she barely understood, never mind the contents.

They weren't the only things in the room that didn't fit with her picture of King. The shelves held broken shards of pottery, interspersed here and there with stone carvings and small statues, the figures in them contorted and otherworldly. But by far the most numerous were the bits of script, sometimes carved into rock, sometimes pressed into papyrus, which had, in turn, been pressed between sheets of glass, but all of it ancient, and none of them in a language she recognised.

She frowned, trying to puzzle it out and failing. She'd never pegged King for the collector type, and he seemed more the sports pennant type when it came to interior design than this. But then she spotted something that put all thoughts of relics out of her head.

Propped up neatly against the stone relief was the picture of King's parents that she'd had Hedges print out for him.

She picked it up, studying it. Maybe it wasn't the exact same photograph. Maybe King had also printed it off the web, but the sight of it had her swallowing, trying not to let it sway her in a direction she was already toppling.

She didn't want to think about King as human, as vulnerable. She didn't want to take that risk with her heart again, not when it was still battered and bleeding after last time, and it wasn't like he'd managed to find a picture of her.

She put the picture back, still busy straightening it when King came back into the room.

He'd showered and pulled on a pair of sweats, but he was still bare-chested, busy towelling his hair. It gave her a chance to study him without him noticing. The ageing bruises she'd spotted briefly on his back spread over his chest as well, an ugly line of yellows and purples splashed across his ribs. There was a graze on the front of one shoulder, the skin already scabbed and healing like he'd hit something or been dragged over something. It was all too easy to imagine what could have happened to him, even though she'd never really thought of herself as having a vivid imagination.

And there, lying against his chest, nestled neatly just above the dark hair, was Velasquez's St Jude medallion.

She was still staring at it when he finally pulled the towel away from his head and caught her looking. He raised his eyebrow, a slight smirk forming on his face, but she wasn't fooled. It may have been months since the last time she'd seen him, but some of his tricks she still remembered and his knack for deflection wasn't something she could easily forget.

"You get hurt a lot," she said softly and his smile faded as he looked away, something vulnerable flashing through his eyes before the barriers came up again.

"Yeah, well, it kind of goes with the territory." He jerked his chin at her arm. "You should know all about that. Are you finally going to let me look at that cut for you?"

She shrugged, not trusting herself to meet his gaze, not when the urge to touch him, to map every single one of his new scars with her fingers and ask the story behind them was so strong.

"I'm going to take that as a yes," he said, and there was a wry kind of amusement in his voice. "Wait here." He stepped back into the bathroom again, coming out with a small medical kit in his hands.

"Up." He patted the table. For a second, she thought about arguing, but she had no good reason for that. Nothing but her balking at the idea of being him so close to her, not when she still didn't trust herself. In the end, she gave in, pushing herself up onto the table and tugging the t-shirt she wore down so that she didn't flash any more thigh than was necessary.

She'd half expected King to comment on it, but he was all business. He cleaned the wound carefully, his face fixed into a small frown of concentration. His fingers were gentle against her skin, and she shivered.

There were no safe subjects of conversation between them, nothing she could retreat into, and that just left the unsafe subjects of conversation, the ones where only fools rushed in.

She was definitely beginning to believe that she was a fool for him.

"How did you know to be there tonight?" she asked.

He shrugged, his eyes focused on what he was doing. "I've been tracking Danica," he said.

"I know," she said quietly, "but our intel didn't have it down as a Talos operation. I thought you said that Danica considered blood banks beneath her."

"Well, your intel's out of date." He turned away, busying himself with the small first aid kit. "And Danica has always been a little greedy. With Frost gone, the Talos Clan are expanding their operations into every shady little deal they can, blood banks included..." He frowned, the words trailing off as he examined her arm.

"I don't think there's much more I can do except wrap this up, keep it clean. I guess I should have gone into medicine, not archaeology."

He never had told her what he'd been studying, all those secrets wound up in lies, but it would have explained the statuary and the other artefacts he had scattered around if she'd known what the hell he was up to. As it was, she was still in the dark.

"I stole it from Danica," he said when he glanced up from his contemplation of the first aid kit and caught her looking. "In case you were wondering."

That made it easier to look to look around the room again, focusing on the majestic mystery of the objects around her instead of how close King was or the warmth rising from his skin as he leaned over to apply a bandage to her arm, taping it down carefully.

"Why?"

He glanced up at her, his expression amused again. "That's kind of an open ended question," he said. "If you're asking why did I steal this stuff from Danica, then the answer is because she wanted it. I don't know why yet, but I intend to figure it out. And in the interim, she doesn't have it, which pisses her off." He gave her a slow grin, his hatred of Danica clear around the edges. "And I'm all for anything that pisses Danica off. It's kind of a hobby of mine."

She didn't rise to the bait, giving him a long, level look. He returned it with interest, his fingers stilling on her arm as his expression grew thoughtful. "And how did you know I was tracking Danica?"

She shrugged, wincing as the move pained the bullet graze on her arm. "I hear things," she said.

"I hear you ask things, as well."

She didn't answer him, but she wouldn't meet his eyes either and he dropped the subject, once again focusing on tending to her arm.

"How's that?" he asked when he'd fastened to the bandage off. His fingers were still resting lightly on her arm, and each time she breathed in or out, his fingers brushed against her skin. She licked nervously at her lips and flexed her arm, pleased when the tape didn't pull.

"That's fine," she said, adding a belated, "Thank you."

He nodded, but didn't move away. Instead, he leaned in closer, bracketing her with his hands as he rested them on either side of her on the table.

"Are you hurt anywhere else?" he asked, reaching up and cupping Abby's chin with his fingers, exerting a gentle pressure that guided her head to the side until he could see the bump on her temple.

"What about that?" he asked. "How are you feeling? Any dizziness?"

"No," she said, fighting not to pull away as he turned her face back, his eyes staring into hers, flicking from one pupil to another. She knew what he was looking for and pulled away, his fingers slipping from her skin. "I'm fine."

He pulled back, something flaring quickly across his face and then dying before she could register it. "Okay," he said, and his tone was just as gentle as his fingers had been.

She missed his touch as soon as he moved away, but she'd grown used to missing him. She stared at him for a moment, and she had no idea what was showing on her face or shining in her eyes, but his hand drifted up to her temple again, brushing her hair out of her eyes and running the strands gently through his fingers.

She shivered, his touch almost too much to bear. She reached up to push him away, put some distance between them, but her fingers settled on his bare chest and stayed there; his skin was warm and still damp from his shower, all too human and too much for her to take.

"I didn't sell you out," he said quietly, the look in his dark eyes serious, a little broken. "Danica was after me, so Frank was right. It's my fault they're dead, but I didn't -"

"I know," she murmured as her fingers came to rest gently on the small silver pendant. The heat from his body rose up to warm her fingers and she gave in to the feelings she couldn't fight any more, tracing the pattern of marks on his skin. She kept her touch light and gentle as she brushed over bruises, skimming around the scratches and scabs, licking nervously at her suddenly dry lips. "You need to learn how to duck."

The corner of his mouth quirked up, but the amusement didn't reach his eyes. They stayed deep and dark, a warmth in the depths that she couldn't ignore any longer.

She didn't want to. She was so tired of fighting: fighting Frank, fighting vamps, fighting this.

King leaned in, his fingers skimming over her face. His thumb brushed over her cheekbone, gently enough not to cause any pain from the bruise that was beginning to blossom there. And then his palm cupped her jaw as he bent down to kiss her, slow and soft and sweet as her fingers curled against his chest.

She pressed herself closer to him, her hand sliding up from his chest to the back of his neck as she deepened the kiss. His lips parted underneath hers, and even though they'd barely kissed before, even though it had been months, the taste of him was achingly familiar. Only the feel of his beard prickling against her skin was new.

She was going to regret this, but regrets were nothing new. Not when it came to King.


	10. Chapter 10

King took his time, his fingers sinking into her hair as his mouth moved slowly over hers, the little flicks of his tongue sending pulses of heat spiralling through her. She wasn't as patient - she didn't moan, not quite, but she pulled him closer still, her short nails digging into his skin as she pressed her body against every inch of his, restraint forgotten in the need to feel him, to lose herself in the fact that he was here and he was real.

He winced when her eager fingers pressed too hard against his bruises, but when he jerked his head back to stare down at her, there was no pain in his eyes. They were heated, pupils blown wide and black, and she watched as he licked at his lips, his gaze tracking down her body. The look sent another surge of need through her, and she leaned back on her hands, staring up at him wantonly from underneath her lowered lashes. She didn't do wanton, didn't flirt, didn't tease - but there was no being all business with King, not about this.

His hands settled on her legs, just above the knees. He had big hands, long and lean like the rest of him, easily spanning the breadth of her thighs. His thumbs stroked lightly over her soft skin, easing her legs apart, and she shivered, her nipples hardening underneath the fabric of her t-shirt. He didn't miss her reaction; his gaze dropped to her breasts and his lips parted enough for her to catch sight of his tongue running hungrily over his teeth.

He slid his hands higher, his fingers firm against the outside of her thighs, pressing in just hard enough to make her to feel it, for it to set her heart racing in her chest. His thumbs he kept light, barely brushing over the soft, sensitive skin of her inner thighs, but even that barely-there touch was enough to send another pulse of pure desire running through her, thrumming low in her belly.

She shifted her hips impatiently, her legs falling open as he made his way higher, too slowly for the blaze his touch was kindling in her. But he still wouldn't be rushed, flashing a quick grin when she wriggled again, the move unsubtle. Even when he'd reached her panties, easing his fingers underneath the waistband, he teased her, dragging it out as he dragged the fabric down, inch by tortuous inch. But if she'd thought to protest, hurry him up, those thoughts were forgotten when he leaned down and pressed his mouth against the soft skin of her stomach where her t-shirt had rucked up, only inches from where she wanted him.

She let out a gasp, the sound turning into a moan as he flicked his tongue across her skin. It was easy - too easy - to imagine that touch elsewhere on her body, and the heat that pulsed through her this time didn't settle in her belly, but lower still, her pussy clenching as though she could already feel him in her.

His hands slipped lower, taking her panties with them, and his lips followed in their wake, his tongue tracing circles against her skin, down over her legs, past her knees and to her ankles as he sank down onto the floor. And then he moved up again, pressing kisses against her flesh as he went. He was still taking his sweet time about it, still not letting her hurry him and ignoring every impatient jerk of her hips, every time she tried to grab at him, pull him higher, guide him to where she wanted him. If anything, her impatience only seemed to amuse him; his breath huffed over her skin as if he was laughing silently, muffling the sound of it against her body.

When he finally reached the top of her thighs, his tongue went back to tracing concentric circles. She tensed, already anticipating that touch against the most sensitive part of her, but he was a fucking tease. He moved right past her damp curls, starting to map the inside of her other thigh, and she growled out his name, sinking her fingers into his hair and pulling less than gently. He laughed again, this time out loud, and his breath ghosted warmly over her wet, heated flesh, leaving her shivering, her fingers digging into his scalp.

"Damn, you're impatient," he murmured and she would have said something, cursed him out, but then his tongue pressed into her slickness and any words she would have said were lost in the moan she let out.

God, he felt good, and he knew exactly what he was doing. She tried not to think about why, about how much practice he must have had, and it was easy to forget when her world had narrowed down to the press of his fingers against her thighs, holding them apart, and the feel of his lips and his tongue as he drove her slowly out of her mind. He traced upwards, flicking his tongue against the swollen bundle of nerves until she was twisting in his grasp, the pleasure of his touch surging through her. And then he moved back down, his thumbs spreading her open and his tongue sliding into her.

Her thighs clenched, the sensations overwhelming her, but his hands pinned her in place, holding her legs apart as he jerked her towards him, only stopping when her ass came to rest on the very edge of the table. And then he redoubled his efforts, until she was reduced to a quivering bundle of nerve endings.

"King!" His name came out in a gasp, the pleasure rising up in her and setting all of her muscles trembling. He could feel it - he had to be able to feel it, how close she was - but he didn't stop, not until she reached down and pushed his head away. "I'm going to -"

He stared up at her, something fierce and hungry in his eyes. His beard was wet, wet from her, and she'd be able to taste it when she kissed him again, the scent of her on his breath. The thought did nothing to lessen her need for him, but she wanted his dick, wanted him inside her so fucking bad.

He smiled at her slowly, and even that was fierce, nothing of his normal laid-back persona in it. "I'm pretty sure you can come more than once, Whistler." And then he lowered his head again, his tongue sliding slowly over her clit as he let go of one thigh to push his fingers into her.

Her back arched off the table, her legs clenching around his head, her heels digging into his back, below his shoulder blades as she keened. Jesus, he had to have pushed two fingers into her from the breadth of them, and they stretched her wide open. She let out another cry as he pulled them out again, sliding them back in again in a rhythm that was going to send her careening over the edge in short order. This time when she sank her fingers into his hair, it was to hold him there as her hips jerked, caught between the sensations caused by his mouth and his fingers.

He took pity on her, not drawing it out the way he had been, but driving her onwards, twisting his fingers inside her and paying attention to every gasp and every moan she let out, every twitch, every buck of her hips. She was coming apart, she was coming apart at the fucking seams, and when he sucked at her clit, a faint hint of teeth in it, she finally fell, calling out his name.

She was still twitching when King eased his fingers out of her, and they were wet against her skin as he grasped hold of her thigh, pushing himself up off his knees and leaning over her to kiss her. His mouth was wet as well, and she'd been right - he tasted of her - and she pulled him closer, sliding her tongue back into his mouth as she wrapped her arms loosely around his neck.

His hands slipped higher, sliding underneath the fabric of her t-shirt to brush along the underside of her breasts. He broke their kiss, staring down at her for a moment before his hands were on the move again, this time slipping underneath her and pulling her into an upright position. She wrapped her legs around his waist, feeling his hardness press against her through the fabric of his sweats, and he tugged at her t-shirt, dragging it over her head so that she was completely naked, bare to his gaze.

He ran his eyes appreciatively over her form, letting out a soft sound of need when his eyes finally reached the point where her lower body pressed against him. It should have left her feeling self-conscious, fighting the urge to cover herself, but there was warmth as well as admiration in his eyes and that made it easier to simply lean forward and kiss him again.

His hands traced slowly down her back, leaving little shivery trails of sensation in their wake until they finally slid underneath her bare ass. And then he was lifting her up, carrying her towards the bed as easily as if she'd weighed nothing. She wrapped her arms around his neck, still kissing him deeply, still tasting herself in his mouth and on her lips and swallowing his breaths as though they were her own.

The bed was narrow, barely enough room for the pair of them, but mattress was soft, much softer than the table had been, and she sank into with a sigh as King settled over her, kissing her again as his hand slid up her thigh, dragging her leg up to wrap around his waist again. "This is the point," he murmured against her mouth, "where I really hope I have condoms."

She chuckled, loose-limbed and with her body still humming. "And if not?" she asked, the words brushing over his lips.

"Then I think we might be back to my very first idea of your mouth and my dick."

His words were absentminded, not lecherous, all of his attention focused on rifling through the small set of drawers by the bed, and maybe if she'd had the energy she would have rolled her eyes at him, but she wouldn't have argued, not after the way he'd just made her come. Instead, she watched him, taking in the smooth flex of his shoulders, the way the muscles in his arms bunched and smoothed out again as he searched.

He finally produced a small box with a triumphant flourish and a grin. It was unopened, still wrapped in cellophane, and she raised one eyebrow at him, not quite sure if it was a question she wanted to ask. His gaze darted away from her for a second before it came back, his expression growing momentarily rueful. "Thought they might come in useful," he said as he ripped open the cellophane and pulled out one of the foil squares. "Someday."

She nodded slowly. There was little else she could do, not without opening a can of worms that she wasn't prepared to deal with, not right now, and probably not ever. King wouldn't thank her for it, anyway, and his expression had already smoothed out again, the appreciation of her naked body sliding back onto his face as though his mask had never slipped. Some of it - most of it - might even have been genuine.

She expected him to be impatient, to want to fuck her as quickly as possible, especially as she'd come once already, but he surprised her. He continued to take his time, exploring her body slowly and carefully, almost like he was mapping it, burning it into his memory. She tried to pretend that she wasn't doing the same thing when she touched him, just like she tried to pretend she didn't see the look in his eyes whenever he glanced up at her face.

He trailed slow, patient kisses over her skin until it felt as if his mouth had touched every part of her. Only then did he move his hands to cup her breasts, his thumbs tracing around her aureoles, delicate little touches that had her arching into him again. She sank her fingers back into his hair, dragging his head down; this time he went where she wanted, his tongue following where his fingers had led and laving at each nipple in turn. When he sucked the first one into his mouth, again with that hint of teeth behind it, a jolt of pure need went through her and her fingers curved into his shoulders, her heels digging into the mattress as she strove to get closer to him. He settled his hands on her hips, holding her down as his mouth moved lower, but she'd had enough of him calling the shots. This time when she dug her heel into the mattress, it was to push up, push him off her and wriggle out from underneath him.

He let her go, settling back on his elbows and watching as she leaned over him, pushing her hair back behind her ears. She kissed him on the mouth first before skimming down over his cheek, feeling his beard prickle against her lips, and then set to exploring his body as thoroughly as he'd explored hers.

She found the place on his neck that made him shiver when she kissed there, and she lingered, scraping her teeth over his skin just to feel him jump. His nipples weren't as sensitive as hers, but dragging her short nails over the ridges of his well-defined abs had him shuddering again, watching her wide-eyed as she moved lower to where his cock was thick and heavy in his pants. She slid her hand underneath the fabric, wrapping her fingers around his erection and sliding them along his length, brushing the skin of his stomach with the backs of her knuckles. The skin of his cock felt soft and delicate underneath her touch, and he let out a little gasp when her thumb rubbed over the very end of his dick, and the wetness that had gathered there had her licking at her lips, already wanting more.

She was careful as she caught hold of the waistband of his sweats, easing the fabric up and over his erection before she pulled them down his legs, waiting until he'd slipped his feet out before she threw them on the floor and moved back up his body to touch his cock again. He wasn't cut. Maybe that was a Canadian thing, but it fascinated her, the way his foreskin moved when she stroked her fingers over it, keeping her grip light and gentle. He gasped again when she rubbed her thumb over the head and pressed it against a little knot of nerves underneath his glans.

She leaned in, sliding her mouth over the end of his dick and exploring the contours of it with her tongue. "Jesus," King breathed, and when she glanced up at him, along the long, lean length of his body, he was watching her, watching the way she slid his dick in and out of her mouth. "You look really fucking good like that."

She stopped what she was doing for a second, ignoring the little exasperated look he gave her. "You mean on my knees with your dick in my mouth?" she asked, and she didn't miss the sudden heat that flashed through his eyes. It was too easy to file away the fact that he liked it when she talked dirty to him in the back of her mind, as though she needed to remember it. As though they were ever going to get a chance to do this again.

"Pretty much. But I want to fuck you, not come in your mouth. That okay?"

And maybe he wasn't the only one who liked dirty talk, because her mouth went dry, another low, heavy surge of desire settling in the pit of her stomach. He was so matter-of-fact about it, no shame, not about wanting her or the things he wanted to do to her. Maybe Danica really had beaten it out of him, or maybe this was how he'd always been. She liked it. A little too much, if she was honest.

He was still waiting for an answer, a small frown starting to form on his face when she hesitated. "That's fine," she said, flushing when it came out stilted and awkward, not missing the amusement that flashed across his face. She pushed herself up his body, determined to take control as she straddled his waist, staring down at him. This time it was heat that flared through his eyes as she leaned in and purred, "Do you want to fuck me like this? Me on top, riding you hard and putting you away wet?"

His hands settled on her hips, his fingers spanning her curves while he smiled up at her. And then his grip tightened, his smile turning into a grin as he toppled her over, catching her before she could tumble off the narrow bed, and rolling with her to settle between her legs.

"I think I'd prefer like this," he said, reaching up to grab the foil square again from wherever he'd secreted it. "You can be on top next time, sweetheart."

Next time. He said it so casually, and she tried not to let any of her doubt show on her face, dragging his head down for another kiss and holding him there until she had schooled her expression into something that wouldn't give everything away.

Perhaps she hadn't managed it, or perhaps she was simply no good at pretending, because when he pulled back this time, breaking their kiss, his eyes were soft and warm, not heated the way she needed them to be.

He kissed her again and she let him, letting herself get lost in it even though that was stupid and dangerous. But then he was tearing the condom packet open with his teeth and she could lose herself something else, in the feel of him pushing inside her, and the way that he stretched and filled her. He was big, and it burned a little in spite of how wet she was, how ready for him, because sex had never been that big a deal for Abby and it had been months even before she'd ever met King.

There'd be time to regret that later. For now, there was the scent of his body, the feel of the crisp hairs on his chest under her hands as she ran them down his torso, and the way that the calluses on his fingers brushed against her skin whenever he touched her. And he never stopped touching her, small little brushes against her skin that drove her higher and higher, wanting more, more of his touch, his dick, just him. He kissed her again, deep and desperate as he eased her thighs higher until her heels crossed in the small of his back, the angle so fucking perfect that the friction of each of his thrusts pressed where she needed it and she was gasping out his name before she was even close to coming.

It didn't take long for him to take her closer, for the easy roll of his hips to have her quivering, hanging on that cusp, ready to fall. But he drew it out, back to teasing, watching her closely with his dark eyes, reading her far too easily: each sigh, each time she clutched at him, every little shiver and moan.

He kissed her as she came, muffling the sharp little cries she let out until she had to tear her mouth away, her whole body tensing as her orgasm rushed through her, the feel of him in her and the way he kept fucking her through it stretching the feeling out until her whole body was trembling, the aftershocks keeping her at fever pitch as his thrusts became deeper, more erratic.

He buried his face in her hair as he came, his fingers digging into her shoulders almost painfully as his breath rasped against her skin. She wrapped her arms around him, not clinging because Abigail Whistler didn't do that, but holding him close for a long heartbeat, feeling his chest rise and fall with every breath he took. And then he finally relaxed, rubbing his beard against her neck like a cat as he stretched and groaned, slipping out of her far too soon, and slipping too far away from her for her to do anything but let go.

She stared at the ceiling as he dealt with the condom, feeling her sweat - and his - drying on her skin. It left her chilled and she shivered, just because she was cold, no other reason. There couldn't be another reason, not one that would ever make sense.

When King had finished cleaning up, he hesitated for a moment, staring down at her for long beats that stretched out and left her tense and restless, uncertain and coming close to hating him for it. But then he finally settled back down on the narrow bed next to her, and she could feel the warmth of his body against her skin, hotter now from their exertions. It was hard, so hard not to move towards that warmth, not to sink into it and let it warm her, too. There were so many good reasons not to, the same reasons that made having sex with him stupid - reckless and dangerous - and she couldn't quite bring herself to do it, to close that gap between them.

But she couldn't quite bring herself to move away, either, and after a moment King sighed, scrubbing his hand across his face tiredly. She tensed up further, on the verge of rising to her feet, ready to say goodbye or sayonara or what the fuck ever, but before she could move he simply flung one arm over her and tugged her closer, bracketing her body with his until the warmth of him seeped right into her.

That was the point where she could have pulled away, cracked a joke, been **him**. Made it all about the sex and nothing else, made it easy for both of them to walk the fuck away.

But she didn't. Instead she closed her eyes for a moment, just one brief moment of weakness, and let the feel of him soak into her skin.

-o-

She hadn't meant to fall asleep. She hadn't even been sure that she could, not when the bed was so small and King took up most of it. She must have been more exhausted than she'd thought because one second she was closing her eyes, just for a moment, and the next she was waking up next to King.

She'd never been good at doing this, not even when it had been casual. With King's cheek resting between her shoulder blades, his beard scratching against her skin as he breathed in and out, this didn't feel casual. The deep, even rhythm of his breathing told her that he wasn't going to wake up any time soon, but that didn't mean that she was going to be able to sneak out without waking him. And that, in turn, meant that the conversation she was trying to avoid was going to happen whether she wanted it to or not.

She was in no real hurry to have it, and she had to admit that it felt nice, lying here with King's arm draped over her like he trusted her to still be there when he woke up. It felt like the kind of thing that normal people did, and that meant it wasn't for her. And she had people waiting for her to come home in one piece.

The sky outside was lightening, telling her that morning was not far off if it hadn't already arrived, and Frank probably had search parties out by now. She shifted slightly, trying to ease herself out from under King's arm without him noticing, but as soon as she moved, the pattern of his breathing changed. The arm he had around her tightened, pulling her closer, and she stiffened, unable to help herself.

"Guess it's going to be one of **those** mornings after, huh?" King murmured, his voice still rough with sleep.

She didn't answer him, but there was no point in pretending that she wasn't on her way out of the door. King wasn't even close to that stupid, so she simply slid out of the bed, resolutely not looking at him as she picked her discarded shirt up off the floor.

"Mind if I borrow this?" she asked, sparing him only the briefest of glances as she headed towards her pants.

"Sure," said King. "But is that the right question? 'Borrowing' implies that you'll bring it back. Somehow, I get the feeling that this is an 'adios' rather than a 'see you later'."

She turned her head and looked at him, saying nothing, and he raised an eyebrow. "Am I wrong?"

Her pants were dry now, and she tugged them off the back of the chair, pulling them on. "Frank still wants you shot on sight," she said as she fastened them. It wasn't exactly an answer, but it was the closest she could come to giving him one.

"Huh." He treated her to what he probably thought was an intelligent, searching look. It didn't work, not with his hair sticking up like that and his eyes still sleepy. After a moment he gave up, pushing himself up into a sitting position, the sheet pooling around his waist as he scratched lazily at his bare chest. "What about you?"

She kept her silence on that point as well, concentrating on pulling on her boots, and after a moment he chuckled.

"Well, I can't say it hasn't been a fun experience, Whistler." She spared him another glance. "At least tell me you had fun, too."

She hesitated, her fingers wrapped around her laces. She didn't know what he wanted from her. An acknowledgement? Some indication that it had meant more to her than a quick roll in the hay?

Whatever he was looking for, giving it to him seemed too dangerous. Silence seemed the much safer option.

He ran his fingers through his hair, ruffling it further, then leaned back against the sparse headboard with a sigh.

"I've got something for you," he said, his tone businesslike as he twisted around to rummage in the bedside drawer. He pulled out an envelope, plain and white with no address on it, and offered it to her. She hesitated again before she took it, eyeing him with something halfway between suspicion and curiosity.

"Relax, Whistler," he said, a small smirk playing around the corners of his mouth. "It's not the equivalent of twenty bucks left on the bedside table. I don't have quite that much of a death wish." He waited until she'd taken it from his outstretched hand before he added, "It's the equivalent of two million."

She stopped dead, her fingers already sliding underneath the flap, but he didn't elaborate, simply grinning at her unrepentantly until she huffed out an impatient breath, ripping the envelope open.

There was a piece of paper inside, and printed on it in King's neat handwriting was a bank name and a series of numbers and letters. Underneath that was an e-mail address. She frowned at it, confused, before turning that same confused look on King.

"Two million," he repeated, giving her another smile, one that lacked his normal smugness. There was something darker in his expression, something grimly triumphant that suddenly reminded her too sharply of Frank. "This stuff," he added, gesturing around the room at the various artefacts, "wasn't the only thing that I stole from Danica. Girl needs to keep her passwords safer. You know, not talk about her secret Swiss bank accounts in front of her pets."

That explained the bitterness, if not why he'd never mentioned it before. She wasn't going to ask, though. King wasn't really her problem any more, no matter what he thought about it. No matter what she thought about it, either.

"Two million?" she asked seriously, still not convinced he wasn't pulling her leg. "Why would you...?"

"Why would I give it to you?" King shrugged again, his eyes never leaving her face. "I emptied the accounts I knew about, which, by the way, only hold a fraction of what Danica has squirrelled away. But it's still going to piss her off and, as we both know, that's pretty much my reason for living. Well, one of them, anyway."

He shrugged again, giving her a smile that was a little warmer and leaving her with no doubt about what he meant. She held his gaze calmly, her fingers steady as she held a fortune in her hands.

"Basically, I stole a hell of a lot more than I'd ever need. Or that I'll ever get the chance to spend. You've got about half of it there." He paused again, and she had the sinking feeling that something else was coming, something she wasn't going to like. "Get Hedges to check the e-mail accounts I know about, every now and then."

"Because you'll be in touch, I suppose. I guess this e-mail address is yours?"

He didn't answer her directly, but gave her another twitch of a smile. This one wasn't smug, just a little sad. "Let's just say that I've got something set up to send Hedges a message if I need to. Something that means that the rest of the money won't go to waste."

She wasn't stupid either. She knew what he was talking about, even if she didn't understand the technology behind it. He was talking about setting up a dead man's switch.

It bothered her more than she thought it would. It bothered her **a lot**. But there was nothing she could say. The words crowded behind her lips, but wouldn't come out, not in the right order, not in a way that would make sense or make him see sense. There was no point in telling him to be careful - she didn't have the right, and even if she did, he had the same sort of look in his eyes now as had been in Estevez's. Maybe not as broken, maybe not as consumed by his hatred, but still resolute and unyielding.

Her eyes were drawn to his bruises again, to the scars he'd already earned. "At least tell me that you'll to learn how to duck," she said. As comebacks went, it was weak, but he smiled anyway, something softer and lacking the harsh edge that had cut straight through her.

"I'll do my best," he said, and just the fact that he was agreeing had her smiling at him in response. "And since we're exchanging favours, do you think you could use the phone two blocks over instead of the one across the street?"

She gave him a puzzled look, reluctant to ask in case she understood the answer. He seemed to have that effect on her.

"I'd prefer not to be here when Frank turns up, given the whole shooting on sight thing," he explained. "So I'd really appreciate a head start."

She had no intention of selling him out, not again, but she owed too much to Frank to tell him that. Instead, she nodded slowly, feeling like she should say something but unable to find the words.

King seemed to have that effect on her, too.

"I should..." She gestured towards the door and he nodded, his face settling into serious lines that didn't suit him.

"You know, if you wanted to stay for a coffee or something..."

She shouldn't be tempted - it wasn't smart to be swayed by the sight of him, bare-chested and still sleep ruffled. And so, instead of giving in, she repeated, "I should go."

She couldn't quite hide the reluctance in her voice, but he didn't comment on it. He simply nodded, his expression staying serious. For a second, she thought that he might argue further - and maybe if he had, she'd have stayed, just for a little while - but then he seemed to think better of it, kicking off the covers and pushing himself up and out of the bed, completely at ease despite his nakedness.

"I'll see you out," he said, reaching for his sweatpants. It surprised her - she'd never had him pegged as the gentlemanly type, but maybe he was just concerned about getting out of here before she sicced Frank on him. Or maybe he was as reluctant to see her go as she was to leave.

In spite of the early hour, it was bright outside and the sun shone low over the buildings opposite, tinting everything with a golden light. When she stopped on the first step, turning back towards him, the light had gilded his hair, turning his skin golden, too.

He leaned against the railings and folded his arms, watching her. "See you around, Whistler."

She nodded, a catch in her throat. There was nothing to say, not really. Nothing that was safe, and King seemed to have reached the same conclusion. Unlike her, however, he was never one to go with the status quo.

She was about to head out when he pushed himself away from the railings and closed the gap between them. She knew what was coming, but she didn't stop him. Instead, she closed her eyes, losing herself in the feel of his fingers against her skin, the breadth of his palm and the roughness of his fingertips as he cupped her face, pulling her into another kiss.

It wasn't gentle and it felt like goodbye, breaking something deep inside her. She swallowed down the shards and brought her own fingers up to touch his face, feeling the silkiness of his beard under her fingertips. She let them linger for a moment on his cheek, allowing herself to have that one brief touch, just so that she'd remember it.

When she pulled back, he let his fingers slip away, searching her face for a moment. She didn't know what he saw there, but he nodded once before he finally stepped away, folding his arms again and leaning back against the railing.

There was no point in saying goodbye - the kiss had said it all - and so she simply turned on her heel and headed down the steps.

She didn't look back this time either, and she didn't walk two blocks, but four, not stopping until she found a gas station with a sleepy eyed attendant who looked nothing like King.

When she finally got hold of Dex, the relief in his voice sent a brief surge of guilt through her, one that only grew when she told him it that she was the only one coming back, not Estevez. She bought a soda while she waited for him, sitting on a wall with it unopened as she watched the rest of the sunrise and tried not to think about anything, especially not King.

It didn't take Dex long before he was pulling up to the curb, the car windows wound down and music blasting out in spite of the early hour. He looked over at her, his sunglasses hiding his eyes, but there was a twist to his mouth that she recognised and she gave him an answering little grimace in response as she slid into the passenger seat.

"You okay, girl?" he asked, his eyes taking in the bruise on her cheek.

"I'll live." It was the wrong thing to say given that she was coming home on her own, but Dex didn't ask about Estevez. He didn't need to. Frank would debrief her and Dex would be in on that. Knowing that, Dex would bide his time until then rather than make her go through it twice.

In a way, it would be easier if he made her go through it now. It would take her mind off King.

"Sommerfield told me to kick your ass," Dex drawled, his eyes focused on the road. She knew him well enough to hear everything he wasn't saying. Sommerfield wasn't the only one who would be half-pissed and half-relieved. Frank would be the same, although Dex himself was probably simply relieved.

"I think I can take her," Abby said absently, her thoughts still dwelling on King. "Zoë I'm not so sure about."

Dex shot her a penetrating look. "Now that doesn't sound anything like you," he said and she stiffened, turning her head to stare out of the window rather than look in his direction and risking him seeing something on her face. "You want to tell me what happened?"

"Frank will debrief me. You know that."

"Screw Frank," he said succinctly. "Estevez is dead and you were gone all night. You hurt?"

There was genuine concern in his voice underneath the pissiness, and a surge of guilt went through her. "I'm fine."

His expression twisted slightly before it smoothed out again into his normal placid mask. "Not a scratch on you, I'll bet."

"Just one."

He shot her another look, halfway between disbelieving and questioning. "Damn, girl. There's laconic and then there's you." He shook his head, but there was an admiring note in the move. "But you need to ask yourself something."

"What's that?"

"Do you or do you not want backup when you deal with Reilly?"

It was the unthinking offer of support that finally got her opening up, not the fact that she needed his help to deal with Frank.

"Frank was wrong," she said quietly. "It wasn't a small, mobile op. It was clan. Five or six vamps, maybe twenty goons."

He let out a low whistle. "You were seriously outnumbered there, Whistler."

"Tell me about it." She took a second to marshal her thoughts. "And it wasn't just clan. It was Talos Clan."

This time he hissed, not whistled, sucking the air in through his teeth. "They just keep cropping up, don't they?"

"They're taking over," she said, not quite willing to tell him her source, not yet. "I mean, they are **literally** taking over."

He shot her another quick look before turning his attention back to the road. "Seems like it," was all he was willing to say. "No doubt Frank will have something to say about that."

No doubt, and that was not a conversation she was looking forward to.

-o-

She expected Frank to go on the offensive pretty much as soon as she walked through the door, given that he'd probably been pacing the floor all night, the worry eating at him. That sort of thing tended to make him a little irrational, a little quick to lash out even if he regretted it later. But she was used to it by now, and knew all of the places he was likely to hit and all of the places he wouldn't before he came to his senses. It was just another kind of sparring as far as she was concerned, and she wondered when she'd started to think of Frank as an opponent.

He didn't disappoint her. "Well?" he asked before she'd even caught her breath, and his tone was confrontational, the deep furrows in his face telling her that she'd been right about how little sleep he'd had. She needed to deal with him carefully, but it didn't help that a little voice inside her head tacked a 'young lady' to the end of his question, a little voice that sounded suspiciously like King.

"Estevez is dead," she said bluntly, too tired to make the effort at diplomacy. "He -" She bit back on the words, knowing that whatever she said, it would come out as blaming Estevez, maybe even Frank. She settled on, "Suicide by vamp." King's words, still rattling around in her head, were as apt a summary as anything.

Frank looked away from her for a moment, regret passing quickly across his face. "How?"

She bit back on a sigh. "He wanted to die, Frank. As long as he got to kill at least one vamp before he went, he didn't give a shit about anything else. He just walked out, guns blazing, like he was making a last fucking stand."

"You didn't stop him?"

The unfairness of the question burned and she held onto her temper with an effort, knowing that Frank was just as short tempered as she was, because he was just as tired. "I tried. And I almost got myself killed."

Frank's head jerked up, his eyes sweeping across her face. "You okay?"

She nodded briefly, which was all she could trust herself to do.

"Good." He folded his arms, segueing back to pissed in the blink of an eye now that she was home and safe. "You didn't call, you didn't write..." He was a sarcastic son of a bitch sometimes, even more so when he was worried.

She pulled her shattered phone out of her pocket, placing it carefully on the bench without a word, and the lines around Frank's mouth tightened.

"You couldn't find a phone booth?"

"I found one this morning."

"So what the hell happened to you last night?"

And there was the million dollar question, only in this case it had turned out to be the two million dollar question.

She took a deep breath, sorting through things. "We were outnumbered." Frank raised an eyebrow at her, impatience clear on his face when she hesitated. "I mean seriously outnumbered, Frank. It wasn't a small op. The Talos Clan have moved in."

His expression froze. "Okay, talk," he said, and the tone in his voice was chilling, almost as full of hatred for Talos as King's had been.

Now that she had his full attention, she had no idea where to begin. Normally she would take a moment to gather her thoughts, and normally Frank would be okay with that, but this time he scowled at her impatiently, his fingers tapping against his arm.

"We finally found what we thought was the blood bank," she began. "Only, there was no sign of any vamps, not then. Just six or seven heavily armed goons, the kind of security your normal, garden-variety, scum sucking lowlife of a vamp can't afford."

She had Frank's attention now. "You thought that was a sign of clan activity?"

"It made sense." She hesitated, once again still trying to sort it out in her own mind. "Estevez and I did a sweep of the building, staying low and out of sight like you taught us, and then we backtracked. This time there were vamps, and they'd all brought their own guards."

Frank nodded slowly, but she didn't think he was agreeing with her as much as acknowledging what she'd said. "And then?" he asked.

"And then Estevez went berserk. I think... I really **do** think he wanted to die, Frank. He just charged in, wanting to kill as many vamps as he could. He headed straight for Danica."

"Okay, that's what I'm not following. How did you know it was Danica Talos? Did you see a clan tattoo?"

His tone was the most intense she'd ever heard from Frank, and she licked at her lips, knowing full well he was going to hate the answer. "I went in after Estevez," she said, ignoring his question for now, although she wouldn't be able to ignore it for long. Frank wouldn't let her. "He was already hit by that point, and I didn't get to him in time."

Frank was watching her closely, narrow-eyed. "How did you know it was Danica Talos?" he repeated.

She finally met his eyes, holding his gaze as she said, "I had help getting out of there."

Confusion clouded Frank's face for a moment, but then it cleared as he started to put two and two together to come up with an answer that was somewhere between three and five. His lips thinned. "And you knew it was Danica Talos because..."

"Because King told me."

She was expecting an explosion, and that would have been the preferable option because that would have been quick to blow over. But Frank's reaction was worse than that; he stilled and his expression grew grim. "King," he repeated and his voice was deep and remote. "Do you know why King was there?"

She shrugged, and Frank's eyes grew flinty.

"He was tracking Danica. That's all he said. He didn't share any intel with me, and I didn't share any intel with him." She didn't tell Frank that he was keeping so much intel back from the rest of his team now that they had no intelligence to share. Estevez had been the one with the death wish, not Abby, and Frank's reactions this morning were sufficiently out of kilter to worry her.

"And you spent the night with King."

It wasn't a question, but that didn't mean she wasn't expected to answer it, even if she didn't like the insinuation. Especially when it was true.

"I spent the night lying low." Frank's eyes narrowed, like he suspected something from her answer, or maybe the tone she'd used, but she pushed on and persevered. "Danica Talos has a hell of a lot of resources and she threw them onto the streets, searching for us." Again she hesitated before grasping the thorn and adding, "Searching for King. I think she hates him almost as much as he hates her."

"I suppose he told you that."

She shook her head mutely, but managed to find her voice again in the face of Frank's refusal to see the obvious. "He didn't need to. I saw her reaction when she saw him, when she realised who almost put a bullet through her head to save me. She really fucking hates him, Frank. I don't think..."

Frank's expression was bleak, and it silenced her for a moment. But only a moment.

"Why didn't you tell me that Danica was looking for King? Sommerfield knew, but you didn't tell me." She tried not to whine like a child being kept in the dark while the adults talked, even if that was what it felt like. "It changes things."

Frank shifted, his eyes still dark and tired. "You seriously think so? Velasquez and Mick are still dead, Whistler. And even if you're right, even if King didn't sell us out, he's still the reason for that. And now it sounds like Danica Talos is going to take the fucking world apart to find him." He paused for a moment to let the full impact of his words sink into her. "This doesn't make him less dangerous, Whistler. Not even for you."

She'd have argued if she could, but there was no denying the truth in his words. Which left only one course of action.

"Why aren't we going after Talos?"

Frank straightened up, a dangerous light entering his eyes. "I told you. The Talos Clan is way out of our league."

"And they're getting bigger," she insisted. "If it's bad now, Frank, how much worse is it going to get? She's taking over, she has to be. Even if you don't believe King, you can't deny that. Unless we stop her now, she's going to end up another Deacon Frost. Power mad and trying to take over the whole damned world."

"Blade took Frost down. If Danica Talos wants to step into Frost's shoes, he'll do the same to her. We're not even close to being Blade."

She huffed out impatiently, not bothering to hide her reaction from Frank. "King's going after Danica on his own while we sit on our **asses**."

"Good."

She stared at Frank in disbelief, but his expression didn't change, staying grim.

"You ever see wolves hunt, Whistler?"

The question threw her, and she shook her head mutely.

"They don't attack head-on, not the smart ones. Oh yeah, sometimes there's one out in front, but while whatever they're hunting is busy with that one, the others come in from behind."

The penny finally dropped. "You're talking about making King bait," she said numbly, and Frank nodded, the move having an air of inevitability about it.

"At this point, I don't really care if he's guilty or not, Whistler. Even if you're right, it doesn't matter. Goat or Judas goat, either way he's going to keep Danica Talos occupied and out of our goddamned hair. I say we wait until she's busy with him and then hamstring the bitch."

"Judas goat?" she asked, focusing on the one thing she didn't understand because it was better than focusing on what she did.

Dex shuffled a little, when she looked over at him, still confused, he was watching Frank with a thoughtful expression on his face. He caught her looking and explained. "They used to train goats for use in slaughterhouses. The other animals see it trotting in, think it's safe to follow. So it literally leads the lambs to slaughter."

That wasn't a pleasant image, not least because of what it meant for King. She opened her mouth to protest, but there was no point, not with Frank looking at her like that. He wasn't going to change his mind.

He watched her for a long moment, obviously waiting for her objections. He was going to be disappointed. He had a point - she accepted that, and probably would have done so more easily if he'd been talking about anyone but King. King was out there, deliberately trying to piss Danica off as much and as frequently as possible, and from Frank's perspective it would be stupid not to exploit it.

From Abby's perspective, it meant that King had very little chance of making it through this alive. And even if it sounded as though Frank was finally considering making a move against the Talos Clan, she couldn't help but be afraid that it would be too little, too late.

But then, King was no more on his own now than he had been before, and at least this way she might get a chance to back him up, return the favour.

"Anything else?" Frank asked, obviously having decided that if she hadn't objected so far, she wasn't likely to object now.

For a second she hesitated, unwilling to open this particular can of worms while she was feeling so vulnerable about King. But there was no point in putting off the inevitable, and she pulled out the envelope that King had given her. It was crumpled now, crushed by her pocket, but she held it out towards Hedges anyway, waiting until he took it from her before she finally looked at Frank.

"What is it?" Frank asked, jerking his chin towards it.

"Two million."

Dex let out a low whistle and Hedges simply stared at her as though she'd grown another head. She didn't miss how Hedges' fingers tightened momentarily on the envelope, crumpling it further.

"King." That was all Frank said, but he still managed to make it sound like a curse.

"Okay, can I just check something?" Hedges asked, his hands fluttering nervously. "When you say two million, you mean two million dollars, right?"

She nodded and Hedges' jaw dropped. "Jesus," he said, and she understood the sentiment.

"Where the hell did King get two million dollars?" Dex asked, and Frank's expression was asking the same question.

"He stole it from Danica."

"Of course he did," Frank rumbled, his expression darkening. "And it's obviously not a trap Danica laid for him, one we're about to get caught up in."

"I have faith in Hedges. I'm pretty sure he can get the money out without it being traced." She knew nothing about hacking or online banking, but she could trust Hedges to do the necessary research. And two million dollars was a lot of incentive for him to figure it out.

Hedges had pulled the paper out and was reading it, his eyebrows drawn down in a frown and his lips moving as he puzzled out King's notes. And then he nodded, glancing over at Frank. "I'm not a hacker, but I know some guys... They should be able to do what we need, cover their tracks, mask their IPs. For a price, of course."

"For two million, I think we can be generous," Dex said dryly. "Jesus." He let out a ragged little laugh, but there was relief in it and Abby could understand why. Two million would fund their operation for a good long while.

Of all of them, only Frank wasn't convinced, but she could tell that he was weighing the risks against the potential payoff. The irony of having a vampire clan fund the very people who were going to take them out would also appeal to his dry sense of humour.

But he was wily, and he hadn't lived this long by being stupid and reckless. "Why give it to you?"

"Who the hell cares, man?" Dex interjected. "So he's got a crush on Whistler. You want to use him? Then why the hell shouldn't we use this, too?"

Frank ignored him, his eyes fixed on Abby.

"Because he doesn't think he's going to live long enough to spend it. And he wants Danica dead. I don't think he cares if he's the one to do it, but he wants to make sure that if she does him first, he's got a backup plan in place." She met Frank's eyes calmly. "You want to use him. Okay, fine. But you can hardly object if he wants to use us, too." And maybe there was still a small, hurt little voice whispering in her head, because she couldn't resist adding, "I thought that's what you wanted, Frank. King to take the lead, for him to be the... Judas goat."

Frank's face was expressionless; for once she couldn't tell what was going on in his head. It didn't matter. She knew what was going on in hers.

And she'd memorised King's e-mail address.


	11. Chapter 11

She held out for almost two weeks before she finally e-mailed King, and she only caved in the end because she hadn't heard anything about him. The questions she was asking about King's whereabouts, about whether he was still out there instead of dead in some vamp's dungeon, were starting to attract attention. The wrong kind of attention. The kind of attention that could get back to Frank, and somehow she doubted that Frank would be sympathetic.

It wasn't difficult to figure out what she wanted to say. There was only one question that mattered. Everything else was irrelevant.

>   
> **From:** huntergrl01@msnmail.com  
>  **To:** hjkingvs@msnmail.com  
>  **Subject:**
> 
> _Tell me you're still breathing._

She checked her e-mail every day, sometimes more than once. She couldn't shake the memory of those car headlights searching the streets, knowing that the vamps hadn't been looking for her, and it worried her that King was way out of his depth, no matter what he thought. She couldn't shake the memory of the bruises on his body, either, or the faint trace work of healing scars.

But the most vivid memories had nothing to do with their fight with the vampires. The ones that kept her awake at night were all about King's touch, the way he tasted, and the way he felt.

When he didn't reply immediately, it made her snappish and irritable, imagining the worst and biting back on her impatience with the other members of her team.  
It took three days for the answer to drop into her inbox, and it was only then that she felt as though she could breathe.

>   
> **From:** hjkingvs@msnmail.com  
>  **To:** huntergrl01@msnmail.com  
>  **Subject:** Re:
> 
> _Anyone would think you were worried about me, Whistler._
> 
> _Hunter girl? Seriously?_

There was no reason for her to reply to King. It wasn't like she had anything important to say, and she'd satisfied herself that he was still alive. So, maybe she'd check if he fell off the grid again, but that was all.

Except she found her fingers clicking on the keyboard, a little more rapidly than she might have been able to do back before Hedges took her in hand, his face creasing with frustration as he watched her hunt and peck technique. And then she was hitting send before she could think better of it.

>   
> **From:** huntergrl01@msnmail.com  
>  **To:** hjkingvs@msnmail.com  
>  **Subject:** Re: Re:
> 
> _I figured that way you'd know it was me._

The smart thing to do at that point would have been to forget all about King, put him completely out of her mind while she did something much more productive. Which was how she ended up sitting at her laptop, pulling together playlist after playlist for her MP3 player and pretending that she wasn't waiting for a reply.

>   
> **From:** hjkingvs@msnmail.com  
>  **To:** huntergrl01@msnmail.com  
>  **Subject:** Re: Re: Re:
> 
> _Did you sign up for an e-mail address just to talk to me? I'm touched._

She stared at his answer for a long moment, and then pushed the lid of her laptop down before she could reply. She was in no doubt that Dex could use a sparring partner.

That, at least, wouldn't be stupid.

-o-

She fell into a routine. She'd hesitate to call it a rut, but her life had a certain rhythm to it, an ebb and flow that was familiar, if not exactly comforting.

She hunted, as she'd always done, but there were new toys for her to play with now, Hedges' ingenuity, Yavari's skill and King's money combining to produce cutting-edge weapons. Abby got to field test them, and she fell a little in love with each and every one of them: the ultraviolet arc, the retracting silver blades, and, her personal favourite, the UV arrowheads, which detonated a second or two after impact and blew any vamp in the immediate vicinity into ash and dust.

Hunting was still hard, difficult and dangerous work. She went out each night with a small smile on her face, and came back with a grin.

She kept in touch with King, too, although that wasn't something she shared with anyone else. He had his own gigs, and if she occasionally passed him Hedges' less complex plans for weapons, so that he knew what he could request from Aref Yavari, well, Hedges was none the wiser. It didn't do any harm. It couldn't. Even if Frank was right - and she was now certain he wasn't - the worst King could do with Hedges' designs was pass them on to Danica, and it wasn't like she was going to be able to come up with a defence against ultraviolet lights. Vamps had been working on that little problem for centuries, and Danica, being made, not born, didn't even have a pure blood's minimal tolerance for sunlight.

But mostly she checked her e-mail just to read the brief two-liners, the snippets of intel that King shared, the rumours and the sightings that told her he was still alive.

>   
> **From:** hjkingvs@msnmail.com  
>  **To:** huntergrl01@msnmail.com  
>  **Subject:** not dead yet
> 
> _Just in case you were wondering. Took down two last night but I hear someone set fire to a nest in the warehouse district._
> 
> _You should check those pyromaniac impulses, Whistler ;)_

Still breathing and still fighting. They had that much in common.

The money King had gifted them didn't just go to weaponry. Sommerfield now had state-of-the-art DNA sequencing equipment, and Hedges had new computer systems. He'd started to do similar modelling to Sommerfield, but his models didn't contain anti-viruses or disease vectors; his work was more concerned with mapping the ebb and flow of vampire activity across the city.

He showed the outcomes to Frank, and Abby paid attention, too. It was both terrifying and fascinating to watch the coloured dots representing the different vampire clans they knew about swirl across the screen, advancing and retreating as they battled for control. Even so, she wasn't surprised to see that the blue dots representing the Talos Clan were making considerable headway, at least on Hedges' models. They were sweeping huge swathes of the city clean, and Frank's expression grew grimmer by the day.

Hedges' models also confirmed what Abby already thought and what she'd observed in the field: the number of vampires kept increasing, and most of them seemed new. The ones Abby came across most frequently now were cannon fodder: barely trained, nothing but impatient hunger, and quick to die. And no sooner did they wipe out one nest than another one popped up to take its place.

But as far Abby was concerned, a vamp was a vamp was a vamp. They all died screaming when she staked them, no matter what their affiliation. The fact that there were more of them these days simply kept her busier.

It was exhausting work. More than once Abby came back from the hunt to collapse, face-down on her bed, and fall asleep still clothed, before she'd even had the chance to shower. She wasn't the only one affected.

Sommerfield spent all of her time in the lab, working on the cure she'd used for King, but trying to turn it into a weapon. Hedges fell asleep at his workstation every night, surrounded by half built prototypes and sketches that made sense to no-one but him. They were all running on fumes, and they needed to slow down. This was a marathon, not a sprint.

This was a war.

One morning, she actually arrived back at base early enough to have breakfast and awake enough to shower. It was a novelty to have any time to herself, and she took advantage of it, pulling out her laptop and firing it up while she ate. If Frank checked in on her - and he did that rarely these days - she could always claim she was pulling together her music. He didn't approve, convinced that the beats pounding in her ear as she fought would mask the sounds of anyone else creeping up behind her. In Abby's experience, however, tuning out the sounds of battle around her allowed her to concentrate, focus solely on the vamp she was taking down. She never had the music turned up as loud as Frank seemed to think, but that was another thing she wasn't going to tell him.

But her reason for turning on her laptop now had nothing to do with choosing the right songs to compile into killing playlists. It was, of course, about King.

There were a couple of messages waiting for her when she logged in, even if he never normally e-mailed her more than once a day at most, and she clicked on the earliest one with a small smile, wondering what intel he had to share and - more importantly - how many different ways he'd try to flirt.

>   
> **From:** hjkingvs@msnmail.com  
>  **To:** huntergrl01@msnmail.com  
>  **Subject:**
> 
> _if ur there turn on IM. pleawse._

She stared at King's missive for a long moment, a small frown forming on her face as she puzzled out his meaning. It wasn't like King to make typos, and for a second she wondered if she'd been so keen to hear from him that she'd clicked on a spam message instead, but when she checked, the 'from' field was clearly his e-mail address.

IM had to be instant messaging. He'd tried to get her on that before, but she'd ignored his suggestion, partly because she didn't want to get so caught up in talking to him in real-time that she'd forget everything else she needed to do, or worse, have Frank walk in on her. The rest was because she knew King well enough to know he'd spend the time flirting with her outrageously and sending her semi-obscene messages.

This didn't sound like flirting, and her finger moved automatically to the icon in the system tray she'd never used. It was linked to her e-mail account - all she had to do was type in her e-mail address and password. While it did whatever the hell it needed to do to go live, she clicked on the second e-mail waiting from King in her inbox.

_Abby if ur there pls get online_

For some reason, the words made her blood run cold and she flicked back impatiently to the messaging system. There was something about 'adding contacts', and she tapped in King's e-mail address, her fingers flying across the keyboard.

Finally it connected her, and there was King's address, the only name listed on her contacts list.

_What's wrong?_

The words hung there, mocking her when King didn't respond immediately. She tried again, typing his name this time, wondering if it was a hoax, some stupid little game he was playing.

This time, however, he finally answered her.

 _im fine_ he typed, and that wasn't the question she'd asked. _Just_

 _Just?_ She frowned at the screen, wishing she could see his face, tell what he was thinking. _You ok?_

_i'll live_

Something cold and uncertain settled in her stomach. _King?_

_need 2 learn how 2 duck_

That feeling turned to stone, weighing her down and making her feel nauseous. Her fingers were shaking as she rested them on the keys again. _How badly are you hurt?_

_i'll live_

_That's not an answer._ He didn't respond right away, and that did nothing to assuage the fear she felt. _King?_ Still no answer, even though there was a little keyboard in the corner of her screen that she thought showed he was typing. She could picture him all too clearly: grey-faced with pain, hunched over, and trying to pretend it didn't hurt.

He wouldn't have contacted her if it had been good; she got that now, and she didn't hesitate.

 _Where are you?_ No answer. _Don't bullshit me. Where the hell are you?_

This time when he responded, he gave her an address.

 _I'll be there_ she typed, and then she hesitated before adding _Hold on_ and hitting send.

Sommerfield kept her infirmary well-stocked. At one point that had been Velasquez's job, but Dex did it now. She took a moment, eyeing all of the neatly labelled shelves and taking deep breaths to hold the fear and the panic down. It wouldn't help King if she rushed. However badly he'd been hurt, he was still conscious and able to contact her, which meant that she had time, and she needed to hold onto that thought.

She took bandages and tape, throwing in some sterile wipes and non-latex gloves, and then a couple of small brown bottles from Sommerfield's medicine cupboard - antibiotics and analgesics.

"You want to tell me what you're doing?"

Dex's voice startled her. She'd been so focused on gathering supplies that she hadn't heard him come in. It could have been worse; it could have been Frank.

She turned her head to look at him, trying to school her face into some blank, unrevealing mask, but she didn't need to see the concern that flashed across his face to know she hadn't managed it.

Dex eyed the supplies she'd already pulled off the shelves, his mind obviously ticking over. "How badly is he hurt?"

She swallowed, not denying it. It wouldn't do any good; Dex wasn't any dumber than the rest of them.

"I don't know. But..."

"If he called you, it's got to be worse than a scrape." That was what she was afraid of, really fucking afraid of, but Dex didn't seem interested in stopping her, or turning her in to Frank. He searched her face for a moment, and then reached up to one of the shelves she hadn't checked.

"Super Glue," he explained, handing her a tiny, white plastic tube. "Medical grade. I've seen your needlework, Whistler. I don't think you'll want to sew him up."

She swallowed, taking the tube from his hand and shoving it with the rest of the stuff in her bag.

"You can use that to seal any cuts instead of suturing," Dex explained. "Use it on the outside of the wound, not in the wound itself. And just try to be neat with it, okay? Don't stick yourself to him, although I get the feeling that advice might be a little late."

She nodded, impatient to be out of the door. But before she could leave, she had to ask, "Are you going to tell Frank where I've gone?"

"How can I tell Frank that?" he asked amiably. "You haven't told me where you're going. Just... Watch out for yourself, Whistler. I know there's no point in telling you not to go, but I'm telling you to watch your back. Just in case."

She nodded again, touched by his concern, but anything she felt was subsumed in her worry for King.

"Take the truck." He pulled the car keys out of his pants' pocket and tossed into her. "Now, get out of here."

-o-

King's bolthole this time was in a bad part of town. She guessed it made sense. From what he'd said, he had places all over the city and if he'd been hunting down by the docks, this would be his closest port of call.

She parked, making sure she locked all of the doors even though she still expected not to have hubcaps, and maybe not even wheels, by the time she got back. It seemed a small price to pay, especially as she had a feeling that Dex had jacked the truck in the first place or bought it from someone else who had.

It was still early, the sun rising sluggishly in the sky, and she kept a keen eye on the street as she rapped on the door, scanning in both directions for any sign of trouble. It took a long time for King to answer her knock, and with each passing second she grew more and more tense, more and more afraid for him. When the door finally opened with a click, she was about ready to crawl out of her skin.

King's face was grey, beads of sweat on his forehead. He stared at her dully for a moment before he stepped out of the way, leaving a gap that she guessed was the only invitation she was going to get.

He was armed. The gun was clutched in his right hand, hidden out of sight by the door, and his left hand was wrapped around his body, pressing against his right side. His shirt may have been dark enough to hide it, but the fingers of that hand were stained red with the blood seeping through the fabric.

She closed the door behind her, making sure that she slid every single deadbolt home. When she turned back to King, he'd already headed towards the interior of the building and she followed him just in time to watch him stagger, putting his hand out to steady himself on the wall.

He left a bloody handprint and her heart clenched, hard and tight, in her chest.

The room he led her to was slightly bigger than the only other bolthole of his she'd seen, but not by much. This one was a dump, too, although at least it seemed clean. There was even a kitchen counter, the surface faded into white from repeated scrubbings, presumably dating from when it had served as a family kitchen. Now the only things on it were a bowl of reddened water, a heap of bloodstained bandages, and King's laptop, still switched on and with the lid open.

King settled himself on the stool by the counter, his fingers curling where they rested on the work surface. His face was even greyer now, if possible, and all of his focus seemed to be on staying upright.

"Thanks," he said, and his voice was hoarse with pain. "For coming out."

She swallowed, aiming for jokey and knowing she was going to miss it by a considerable margin. "Well, you're about the only person I'd make a house call for."

He managed a faint smile, breathing shallowly, in and out, his focus on her seeming to fade as another wave of pain hit him.

"How bad is it?" she asked, aiming for brisk and businesslike, and making it, mostly. "Do you need a trip to the emergency room?" He shook his head, finally meeting her eyes, dark shadows underneath his.

"Danica knows I'm hurt," he said, and Abby put two and two together, not doubting his conclusion. If he thought Talos would be watching all of the local hospitals, she wasn't going to argue. He knew Danica hell of a lot better than she did. "It's not that bad."

That she did doubt. "Let me see."

She had to help him ease his shirt away from his skin and over his head. He'd made an attempt to patch himself up; there were white bandages padded over the wound, taped down awkwardly, but they were already bloodstained, and she didn't think that was a good sign.

She swallowed, keeping her fingers gentle as she peeled away the tape. In spite of her care, he still hissed in pain, his fingers clenching into a fist, and she shot him an apologetic look. He ignored it, concentrating on breathing.

He'd been knifed, and whoever had hit him had left a sharp, neat wound, almost three inches in length. It could have been a lot worse. The wound was long, but she didn't think it was that deep. He'd cleaned up the worst of the blood, but the sides of the wound still gaped a little when he moved, puckered and oozing blood.

She swallowed again, suddenly a little light-headed. She'd seen worse injuries, but there was something obscene about the way his flesh had parted underneath the blade, and something terrifying about the fact that if he'd moved a couple of inches in the wrong direction, the knife would have sunk into his guts.

"I need to seal it," she said, because talking about it helped her focus. King nodded, not looking at her and keeping his eyes away from his side. She had a feeling his acknowledgement was just for show, something to keep him focused when he was past the point of caring.

She padded up his bandages again, the ones she'd removed, and pressed them against his wound. "Hold that there," she said, waiting until he had his hands in position before she took hers away. His movements were sluggish, uncoordinated, and she scanned his face worriedly, trying to remember the signs of excessive blood loss that Velasquez had tried to drum into her.

He was conscious, and he was upright, and that was pretty much the extent of her knowledge.

She turned away, pulling what she needed out of her bag and trying to be logical and consistent about it. Panicking wouldn't help him, and he wasn't in any immediate danger. Once she'd pulled on a pair of gloves, the wipes came first, and she cleaned the area around the wound again, ignoring the way he hissed in pain, fighting not to pull away. Then there was an antiseptic spray, and she used it liberally, ruthless about it in spite of his strangled yelp and heartfelt "Fuck me!"

When it came time to seal the wound, her hands were shaking. She clenched her fingers into fists, willing them to stop. King was watching her, his expression slack and haggard. It should have made him look old; instead it made him look painfully young, and she took a deep breath, stretching out her fingers and centring herself.

"Could be worse," King said, his voice shaking almost as much as her fingers, even if he managed to crack a smile. "Could be needles."

She let out a ragged little laugh, and it helped. This time when she took in another deep breath, letting it out slowly, her fingers stilled, as steady as when she held a blade or drew back her bow.

"Okay," she said. "Don't move or you could be stuck with me. Permanently."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

She didn't answer him, all of her attention on carefully squeezing the glue out of the tube, leaving a neat line just above his injury, barely a hairsbreadth from the edge. King twitched a little when she gently eased the edges of the wound together, keeping her fingers well away from the clear, sticky glue.

And then she stepped back, letting out a breath.

"How's that?"

He started to stretch tentatively, and she put her hand his shoulder to stop him from moving around and opening his injury again. "You'd better keep still until the glue's dry," she said and he nodded, sinking back down onto his stool with a sigh.

"Have you got painkillers?"

He nodded again. "Took some already. I don't think I can take any more for a while."

"What about antibiotics?"

This time he shook his head, and she fished the right small, brown bottle out of her bag, handing it to him and waiting until he took it, swallowing two of the small white pills dry.

She hovered over him silently and awkwardly, fighting against the urge to brush his hair out of his eyes, touching him just so she could feel the warmth of his skin, let it sink into her and reassure her that he was still alive the way that just seeing him couldn't. She swallowed it down, aiming for normalcy or what passed for it with them anyway. "What does a girl have to do to get a drink around here?" she asked, and he laughed, the sound low and raw.

"There might be some beer in the fridge. I don't know for sure. I don't tend to keep this place stocked. There should be coffee, though. No milk, I'm afraid."

Of course there wouldn't be any milk. She had a hard time thinking of King as being domestic. He didn't have a microwave either, and she ended up digging a saucepan out of the cupboard and using it to boil the water.

When she turned back to King, he was watching her again and the look on his face sent a flood of warmth through her. It wasn't just gratitude she saw, but something else, something he quickly hid, dragging his eyes away from her.

"Thanks," he said again, his voice sounding gravelly and hoarse. He cleared his throat. "For coming over, I mean. I didn't expect..."

They were heading into uncomfortable territory, and Abby folded her arms, shifting awkwardly in place. She glanced away from King, looking anywhere to avoid meeting his eyes, and her gaze fell on the laptop again.

The chat window he'd been talking to her in was still up on the screen, and she'd been in such a hurry that she hadn't signed out. He'd sent her more messages after she'd bolted for the infirmary; she could see them on the screen.

_u don't have 2 come. I just needed 2 talk to u_

When she looked back at King, his expression was grave, maybe even a little lost. "I got scared," he said, and his mouth twitched like he was trying to smile and not quite making it. "Stupid, huh?"

He let out a shaky breath, dropping his eyes to the floor, and this time when her heart clenched it had nothing to do with fear or with worry. She hunted on her own more often than not these days, but she had help when she was hurt, and she'd never come home and found that no one was waiting, that no one cared.

"It's not stupid," she said quietly, and he tried for another smile, this one even more broken than the last. "You scared me, too," she admitted, and she couldn't even try to smile, brush it off like he was trying to. "When I realised you were hurt and I wasn't -" She bit off the words, trying not to choke on them. "I check my inbox every day." Her voice cracked, just a little, in spite of holding onto her calm as hard as she could. "Just so I know that you're still breathing."

His eyes were fixed on her face, wide and a little wet. He swallowed, giving her a jerky nod. "Well... I've got to say that I'm glad you're here now."

She finally gave in to that ever-present urge, the need to touch him, and reached out to stroke her fingers gently along his hairline. He turned his face into her touch, closing his eyes.

"Me, too," she said, and it came out halfway between a sigh and sob. "Me, too."

-o-

She should have walked away after that, but when it came to King, she wasn't smart. She tried to keep it low key, hoping no one else on her team noticed how distracted she was, or how often she ran errands that she hadn't felt the need to run in the past. Maybe Dex noticed, but if he wondered why she was seldom around during the day, he didn't ask, and if he had any suspicions, he kept them to himself.

That didn't mean she was entirely stupid. Her first priority, as it had always been, was their war against the vampires. She still did the things she needed to - training, hunting, killing - but when she went out for a run, it was usually in King's direction. And as King's injury healed, she took a little longer to run back. Sometimes she took a lot longer.

"You know, I've never had an affair with a married woman before."

She paused in the act of pulling her hair into a ponytail and gave King an exasperated look over her shoulder.

"I'd ask what you were talking about, but I'm afraid you'd tell me."

"This." He made a little hand-waving gesture between the pair of them, Abby already up and getting dressed while King still lay sprawled across the bed. "The whole 'sneaking in and sneaking out' thing."

She raised one eyebrow at him, trying not to be distracted by the sight of him, still naked and tousled, his hair sticking up where she'd dragged her fingers through it. "Have you forgotten that Frank still wants to put a bullet through you?"

"Exactly. It's like you're married."

"To Frank?"

"I'm pretty sure that wanting to kill me fits the wronged husband archetype." He frowned. "Although that mental image is... just **wrong**. Disturbing, even. He's how much older than your father again?"

She rolled her eyes. "You're a dick. D'you know that?"

"Yeah, can't help it. It's genetic." She gave him a look, and a slow grin started to form on his face. "Seriously. It's hard-coded into my DNA. Or maybe that was 'have a dick'."

"I'm pretty sure it was 'be a dick'," she said dryly, amused in spite of herself. "And Frank wanting to kill you has absolutely nothing to do with..."

"Me fucking you?" he asked brightly. "Screwing you? Pounding you into the mattress on a regular basis -"

She picked up one of his pillows and slammed it into his face, cutting him off. He was laughing as he knocked it away, onto the floor.

"Is that what you call it?"

"I'd call it not regular enough. If you're looking for complete honesty here."

She rolled her eyes again, fastening her buttons and ignoring him.

"I take it there's no chance of reconciliation with old Frank, then?" he asked, reaching over to pull the pillow back up onto the bed. He plumped it up and placed it neatly on the mattress, before rolling over to rest his chin on it as he watched her get dressed.

She hesitated in the act of sliding another button through the buttonhole. "I don't think..."

"Yeah," he sighed, "I know." A brief spasm of frustration crossed his face. "It would just be a hell of a lot easier."

She looked under the bed for her shoes. "You mean you'd get nookie morning and night instead of just an afternoon delight?"

"Nookie?" He was laughing again, the bastard. "Is that what you call it?"

"What would you call it?" She knew as soon as the words were out of her mouth that the question was a mistake.

"Fucking you, screwing you, pounding you into the mattress..." He grinned at her again. "Although, I have to admit that 'afternoon delight' has a certain _je ne sais quoi_ about it."

She shouldn't encourage him, but her mouth curled up in a small smile anyway, and of course he took that as a sign that she'd be okay with him grabbing her around the waist and pulling her back down onto the bed with him again.

"Hey," he said. "How about a bit of afternoon delight?"

"I've got to go," she said reluctantly, even though she was already leaning into his touch. His palm cupped her cheek as he pulled her into another kiss, taking his time and leaving her breathless.

"Hey, you," he said when he finally pulled back, smiling at her in a way that did stupid things to her insides. "I've got a favour to ask."

"If it's sucking your dick, I've already done that once today."

He laughed again, leaning in to kiss her again, this time far too briefly. "No, although I wouldn't say no if you were offering. This request's actually serious."

She pushed herself up, staring down at him. "What is it?" she asked cautiously, and he didn't miss her reluctance, the amusement fading slowly from his face.

"I've got a job tonight," he said. "And it's a two-man job. Or... Two-person job, anyway."

"What's the job?"

"Well, Danica owns a warehouse down by the docks..."

"Which is where you managed to get yourself stabbed."

He paused, searching her face. "So you managed to figure that one out?"

"It wasn't difficult."

He gave her a faint smile. "No, it wouldn't have been for you. Yes. I knew she had the place down there. I just didn't know where, and there was more security than I expected. Which just goes to show, I shouldn't have underestimated Danica's need to protect whatever the hell she's got down there."

She let him tug her closer as he talked, her hands automatically coming to rest on his chest. "So what does she have down there?"

"Now, that's the million dollar question. I don't actually know. I just know she **really** doesn't want me to take a look. And since she doesn't want me to see it..."

"You're going to be a gentleman and look anyway?"

"I'm always a gentleman."

"Oh?" She raised an eyebrow again, smirking down at him. "Is that why you have your hands on my ass?"

"I just didn't want you to get cold."

"Is that right? Then why are you always so eager for me to take my clothes off?"

His mouth quirked upwards. "Shared body heat?" he suggested, and she shook her head, amused and not hiding it. "That a yes?"

"To sharing body heat or to watching your back tonight?"

"Both."

She chewed at her lip, considering it. Frank would have said it was a trap, but if King had intended to hurt her, he'd had plenty of opportunity and a hell of a lot of occasions when she hadn't been armed.

"Does it have to be tonight?" she asked, already figuring out the excuses she could make to Frank, even though she wasn't willing to admit to that yet.

King nodded. "The guy I beat it out of seems to think she's moving whatever she had shipped in soon. I don't think we can hang around on this one for long."

 _We_. As though they were in this together, and as though King didn't doubt for a minute that she'd have his back.

He probably wasn't wrong on that count.

"Okay," she said eventually, not missing the relief that flooded his face before he tamped it down, adopting an insouciant look that didn't fool her for a second.

"Is that a yes to sharing body heat or watching my back?"

"Both."

He smiled up at her. Maybe it was the relief he felt, but it seemed softer this time as he reached up to gently brush back the strands of hair that had escaped her ponytail. "Come here," he said quietly, pulling her slowly down towards him. "I've got a delightful afternoon I want to share with you."

-o-

King's joking comments meant that getting back to base really did start to feel like sneaking in. It didn't help when she caught herself keeping an eye out for Frank, which was a sure sign of a guilty conscience.

The worst thing was that she really did have a guilty conscience, but not for the reasons Frank would think if he knew about it.

It was usually quiet when she eased the door shut behind her, and she tensed, listening for any signs of activity and wondering whether she'd ever reach the point where that heavy weight of dread didn't settle in her stomach whenever she couldn't see anyone immediately. But then she heard the soft, consistent sound of a basketball hitting the floor; Hedges and Dex, chilling out and finally taking a break.

She smiled to herself as she headed further into their small, cramped headquarters, popping her head around the door to say hi to Sommerfield, who - as always - was chained to her microscope and keyboard.

Sommerfield lifted her head, tilting it to the side she tracked Abby, either by sound or by scent. "Everything okay?" she asked before Abby could move away, and Abby stepped fully into the room, knowing from past experience that Sommerfield wouldn't be satisfied until she'd satisfied herself.

"Everything's fine," she said, keeping it light and breezy. "Why?"

Sommerfield let out a little snort. "I was beginning to think you didn't love us anymore," she said with her trademark sarcasm, and Abby smiled, leaning on Sommerfield's workbench.

"I'll always love you," she said. "Maybe even Dex."

Sommerfield let out another huff of amusement, turning back to her computer. "You're in a good mood today. Should I try and guess why?"

Abby shrugged even though she knew Sommerfield couldn't see it. It would probably show up in her voice, and Sommerfield was good at reading those cues in the absence of visual ones. "If you want."

"Uh huh." Sommerfield smiled to herself, the expression sly and knowing. "You should probably go and shower before Frank catches you. You smell of sex. At least tell me it was good sex."

Abby's stomach lurched unpleasantly, the guilt rising to the surface. She bit back on the explanation and the excuses; if Sommerfield already suspected who she'd been with, there was no point in confirming it. And if she didn't, there was no point in putting ideas in her head.

"Glad to see that someone's getting a booty call," Sommerfield continued, and Abby gave her a strained smile, one that was entirely wasted on Sommerfield.

"I'd better go shower," she said, and Sommerfield chuckled earthily.

"You do that, girl. And then you can tell me all about it later."

Later, as far as Abby was concerned, was right about the time that hell froze over, but she didn't say as much to Sommerfield. There was no point in borrowing trouble in advance, and she was sure she could avoid the other woman for the next year or two, or until Sommerfield forgot all about it, which was probably even longer than that.

It was just her luck to meet Frank in the corridor as he headed into Sommerfield's lab. He gave her a searching look as he passed, probably confused by her heightened colour, but she avoided his eyes and made good her escape, heading straight for the shower and hoping she didn't run into anyone else until she smelled like herself and not like King.

She hid herself in Hedges' lab for the rest of the afternoon, busying herself with waxing the strings of her bow and lubricating the cams. Hedges left her alone, recognising that she had no interest in small talk today.

She was still there when Frank found her, and he hung back in the doorway for a moment, watching her silently until she spotted him. His face was inscrutable, giving her absolutely nothing to go on, but there were dark shadows underneath his eyes and deep grooves by his mouth, which hadn't been there only a few months ago. She held her tongue, already feeling guilty before he'd opened his mouth.

"You got plans tonight?" he asked.

She nodded mutely, finally answering him when he made an impatient little 'come on' gesture. "I thought I'd head down to the docks," she said slowly, searching his face for any sign of what was going through his mind.

"Cancel it," he said brusquely, the words coming out with a hard snap, and she frowned. "I want you here tonight."

In spite of the temptation to tell Frank where he could stick his orders, she paused long enough to mull over her options, trying not to glance at the clock and wondering if it was too late for King to change his plans. Knowing King, he wouldn't change them anyway, but would simply head out without her.

"You got a problem with that, Whistler?" Frank snarled suddenly, the aggression taking her by surprise. She started to shake her head and then stopped, holding his gaze and wondering when, exactly, Frank had lost his goddamned mind.

"Do you have some intel I need to know about?" she asked, not backing down, not this time, no matter the consequences. Frank had been like a cat on a hot tin roof for far too long now, and it was about time someone called him on his shit.

"You need to know what I decide you need to know," he said and the snarl had gone from his voice. Instead, it came out deceptively calm, as though Frank had regained control of himself again, pushing everything down inside and letting nothing show on the surface, nothing but the same bone-deep tiredness she'd been seeing for weeks now, all of his fight fled.

"I need to know, Frank. If you want me to change my plans, you need to come clean with me."

His nostrils flared. "Do I now? You're on dangerous ground there, Whistler."

"More dangerous than if something's coming and I don't know about it?"

It was the way he shifted position that told her he was backing down, and she felt some of her tension ebb away.

"Nothing's coming," he said. "Nothing I know about, anyway, but I don't like leaving Sommerfield and Zoë here on their own. Not after..."

That was news to Abby. She hadn't noticed it concerning Frank before, but then she hadn't been around much recently. Maybe things had changed. "Hedges will be here," she said, judging his reaction carefully. She couldn't puzzle it out, Frank's sudden change in attitude, not unless he really did know something he wasn't sharing.

He wiped his hands over his face tiredly, and the move pulled the skin of his cheeks down, making him look more than ever like an ancient bloodhound. Except that even bloodhounds didn't look as hangdog as Frank did just then.

"Just humour me, Abby," he said. "For once."

She'd been humouring him for months, even if he hadn't realised it. She couldn't do it any longer, not when they finally had a chance to strike a blow against Danica Talos. Not when King was counting on her to watch his back.

But she nodded anyway, small and discreet because it felt less like a lie that way. Frank's mouth curled up in a small, rare smile, the genuine gratitude in his voice making her feel even more like a heel.

"Thank you," he said, and she hated herself, just a little bit, for that.


	12. Chapter 12

Making the decision to defy Frank was the easy part; the hard part was going to be living with it. Abby's heart was in her throat as she drove to the docks, a constant sense of low-level nausea that dragged her mood down and made the night stretch out endlessly in front of her.

She parked out of sight, well away from the main road that led down to the warehouse complex, pulling some branches around to cover her bike. It wasn't perfect, but it would have to do, and her bike was far enough back from the road to ensure no one would find it unless they were looking. And if they were looking that closely, the bike would be the least of her worries

She hiked back to the main road, taking the time to look around, on edge for any sign of danger. The docks were to the east of her, about a mile or so downriver. Even at this time of night they were busy. She could see the lights on the cranes and hear the distant whirr of machinery as they loaded and unloaded the vast ships berthed in each dock. Semis rumbled out of the gates every so often, heading towards the city and beyond.

From up here, it could've been a child's play set, made from bolts and Legos, but appearances were often deceptive. There could be vamps down there in the darkness, cutting a swathe through dockworkers and sailors alike. The docks were ideal ports of entry for more than just cargo - not all vamps were wealthy enough to afford private jets, but the dark of a ship's hold would serve for those that weren't and had itchy feet. It had done for Dracula, after all, at least if Bram Stoker was to be believed.

The warehouses themselves were quiet on the surface. Abby stayed hidden and watched for several minutes, but she only spotted a single security guard wandering past, doing a slow circuit of the complex and paying very little attention to his surroundings. The dog that accompanied him was more of an issue, but judging by the way the man kept bending down and ruffling its ears, the thing was more pet than watchdog. She still made sure to stay downwind of it, just in case.

She watched until the pair of them retreated behind a building, counting the seconds until they'd be out of hearing range as well as out of sight, and trusting that King's timings were accurate when it came to the guard's routine.

She still hesitated even when they were out of sight, and she knew why. Until she actually climbed the fence and met up with King, she wasn't technically disobeying the letter of Frank's law, even though she'd been violating the spirit of it for months. There would be no turning back at that point - even if Frank never found out, Abby would know, and that knowledge would eat at her.

But she was wasting time; she took a deep breath and hit the fence at a run, the chain-link clattering as she clambered up it. At the top, she took another quick look around, double checking that the guard was still out of sight. When he didn't reappear, she swung her legs over and dangled by her fingers, stretching as far as she could before she finally let go and hit the ground.

King had marked their rendezvous point on the plans he'd had and she'd memorised it once he'd finished distracting her. She oriented herself, keeping to the shadows as she darted towards the relevant building where she was supposed to meet him.

King was already waiting for her. He rose up suddenly out of the darkness, startling her. "You're late," he whispered. "Thought you weren't going to make it for a while there."

"Frank," she said succinctly, and King grunted, all of his attention on the building opposite.

"You seriously need to divorce that man," he said, one of those thoughtless little asides of his that irritated and amused her in equal measure.

"And run away with you, I suppose?" she asked dryly.

He glanced over at her, his teeth flashing briefly in the darkness, white and even. "You could do worse."

"I could do better, too." He snorted. "That it?" she asked, scanning the building as her fingers sorted quickly through her backpack, finding and neatly stowing various items on her body.

"Yeah. I've been here for a while. Nothing going in and nothing going out. No signs of activity at all."

She paused, studying him. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking that I don't like the fact that very little is happening. Especially after last time." He shifted position, staying low and out of sight, and she knew he was remembering the feel of a knife sliding into his flesh.

"You think it's a trap?"

He shrugged again. "It doesn't feel like one, but what do I know? I'm the guy who gets stabbed. But even if it is, maybe springing it is the smart thing to do."

She gave him a look that spoke volumes.

"Okay, maybe springing it **isn't** the smart thing to do, but I'm all out of options. Okay, maybe not options, but definitely patience, and that pretty much amounts to the same thing."

She tuned him out for a moment, staring at the building opposite as though it would provide answers simply because she needed them. "No one's around," she said.

"I think I just said that."

She thought hard, running through the alternatives. "It's only life," she said eventually. "What are we worried about?"

He flashed her another grin. "I knew there was a reason I liked you, Whistler."

"I thought it was the sex."

"That, too."

Now it was her turn to snort, changing the subject to get him back on track. "You ready?"

King took in a deep breath, the amused look disappearing from his face as he stopped clowning around and became all business. "I'm ready. Let's do this."

The security lights were bright, and that made crossing the hundred yards between their shelter and the building they'd been watching interesting, if interesting had been redefined as completely fucking terrifying. She moved fast and kept low, following hard on King's heels, her heart beating furiously in her chest and the adrenaline surging through her. She gloried in it, her fingers tingling and her breath catching in her throat.

King had learned a few tricks, things she hadn't taught him, and he didn't handle his gun like a cop any more. He'd learned how to pick locks, too, but it was nothing like in the movies, a couple of jiggles and the padlock falling open. It was a couple of minutes of being exposed, feeling far too vulnerable until it opened with a soft click and the pair of them eased inside.

She'd come armed with a flashlight, something compact with a tightly focused beam. King's was larger and squatter, the beam spreading more widely, but together they cast enough light for them to move rapidly through the building, King checking off the location markers as they went.

"It's up ahead," he murmured eventually, shining his light in front of them. "My source said it was in Section 6B."

He meant what he'd beaten out of his source, but Abby wasn't going to argue his word choice. Instead, she followed in King's wake, not missing the eagerness in his stride.

She didn't miss the way that his shoulders slumped when section 6B turned out to be empty, either.

"They must have moved it," she offered in consolation. For a second his face twisted and she could almost hear the words he didn't say. He bit them back, though, and she had to respect his self-restraint, particularly given how difficult he usually found it.

"Or it was never here in the first place," he admitted. There was a snappish bite to his words, but when he caught her looking at him he pulled an apologetic little face. "I was so fucking sure..."

She got it. It wouldn't be the first time a hunt had gone awry; it wouldn't be the last. Hunters like her and King wore disappointment like they wore their scars; cutting deep and showing on the surface.

"We need to go," she said, and he nodded, visibly pulling himself together and becoming all business again. She drew her weapon and he matched her move, the pair of them heading back the way they'd come, but even more alert now. The fact that the tip-off had been wrong had her on edge, but she still slowed her steps despite the increased danger they were in.

"What if your source was wrong about where it was?" She played her light over the boxes they were passing. "Maybe even just by a few lots?"

King also slowed her steps, matching her pace. "You mean it could be around here somewhere?" He shone his light one of the boxes, reading the side. "Maybe, but I'm pretty sure we don't have time to search them all."

"It would help if I had an idea of what I was looking for."

He hesitated, biting at his lip as he scanned another box. And then he dragged his attention back to her. "Statuary, maybe," he said. "Reliefs, stone carvings, that kind of thing."

She stopped short, staring at him, and it took him a second to realise. "We're here looking for artwork?" Okay, maybe she sounded a little pissed, but she didn't think she could be blamed for that under the circumstances. King had absolutely no idea what this little jaunt could cost her.

"No, we're looking for archaeological artefacts."

She blinked at him, turning the phrase over in her mind. "While I'm sure some girls would be turned on by the geek speak," she said, "how about explaining that in plain English?"

"Archaeological artefacts -"

"I know what archaeological artefacts are, King. I did finish high school and I own a dictionary. What I don't understand is what Danica wants with this stuff and why we're risking our necks to find it before she gets her hands on it."

He huffed out a breath, but he wasn't being a dick about it and that was the only thing that stopped her from kicking his ass. He opened his mouth then stopped abruptly, closing it again as she fought against the urge to tap her foot impatiently. "How much do you know about Mesopotamia?"

"About as much as you know about getting to the point."

He grimaced, accepting her criticism. "Well, vampire lore says that's where they originated from, the Near East. Thousands of years ago. Danica's been collecting little mementos, little slices of vampire history. She thinks it'll tell her more about the origins of the vampire race."

"And that's important because?"

"That's the one thing I haven't quite figured out yet. But I've got my suspicions."

They were too exposed here. That was the only reason she started moving, not because she'd stopped fighting the urge to wring his neck. He fell into step with her, but she noticed he was smart enough to stay out of arm's reach. "And those suspicions would be?" she asked deceptively mildly.

He shot her a slightly wary look. "Blade's the only Day Walker, right?"

"As far as we know."

"A creature of myth and legend..."

"I'm pretty sure he's flesh and blood, King," she said dryly. "Given that he shares a crib with my dad."

"Yeah, yeah." He waved off her objection. "The point is that there were already legends about Day Walkers before Blade was even born." He frowned for a second. "Or made, whatever. So if Blade's the first Day Walker, where did the legends come from?"

He was starting to get interesting, or at least interesting in a way she hadn't anticipated, and that didn't involve him being naked. "You think that ancient vampires were Day Walkers?" she asked and he gave her an approving smile.

"I think Danica does. And you have to admit, it makes sense."

"Does it?"

"Pure bloods survive longer in the sun than vampires who were born human and turned." She nodded, acknowledging the point as he continued. "And some of the younger vamps, some of those who were made, not born, will kill a pure blood and drink his blood - or her blood for the equal opportunity assholes among them - to give them some measure of protection."

"I've heard the rumours," she said. "Deacon Frost tried it, and from what I've heard it worked as long as he used SPF 1000."

King nodded, still lost in thought, and it was a good thing **she** was watching where they were going.

"So, the older the vamp, the further up the vampire family tree they are, the more protection they seem to have from the sun."

It clicked into place. "She's looking for a Day Walker."

King nodded again, shooting her another one of those approving looks. She should kick his ass for that, but she had to admit that it warmed her a little inside.

"I think so, yes. And if I get my hands on her little scribblings before she does, I might be able to figure it out before she does, too."

"And how are you going to do that?"

She thought it was a perfectly valid question, so she had no idea why King stopped and gave her a look that was sheepish at best.

"I did mention the fact that I speak ancient Sumerian, right?"

She stared at him blankly, for once actually shocked beyond words.

"Well, when I say speak... Nobody's actually **spoken** it for thousands of years, so my pronunciation is probably way off, but I can read it. More or less."

"You speak ancient Sumerian?" It was surreal, and he looked sheepish again, grimacing awkwardly. "Is there anything else you want to tell me?"

"No, I'm good." He started off again, and she had to trot the first few steps to catch up with him, still shaking her head in amazement.

"How come you speak ancient Sumerian?"

He gave her a little sidelong look, one that seemed slightly embarrassed. "My master's was in Ancient Near Eastern History. I was working on my Ph.D. in Cuneiform Studies when -"

"Wait! You have a master's degree?"

He looked offended, but she knew him well enough by now to know that was just an act. If it had been lighter in here, she was sure that she would have seen his eyes crinkle up the way they did whenever he was pulling her leg.

"I'm not just a pretty face, Whistler. You're dating a genuine scholar."

It was the casual reference to dating that stopped her dead in her tracks, and King carried on for a few steps before he realised. He turned back to face her, frowning slightly in the light of her flashlight.

She swallowed, trying to ignore the sudden tripping of her heart and get back on track. "So, what are the odds that Danica Talos managed to turn the one guy who might be able to help her with this little quest of hers?"

She'd meant that maybe King had been targeted, but the blood drained from King's face, his expression turning stricken. He couldn't meet her eyes, looking away as his tongue licked at his lips, a nervous little twitch that she was all too familiar with.

Her chest tightened, a familiar feeling of dread building in her again.

"Abby, I -"

They'd been stupid. They'd stopped paying enough attention to their surroundings, so when a figure rose up out of the darkness, swinging something long and thin at King, it took them both by surprise. It caught King high in the chest and he went down with a grunt of pain, his flashlight clattering across the floor and sending crazy beams of light around the room.

Abby levelled her weapon, using her own flashlight as a guide to aim. She was about to pull the trigger when Frank stepped into the beam. She lowered her gun again automatically, her heart tripping frantically. Frank didn't look good; the flashlight caught the crags and cracks in his face, casting elongated shadows over his features. It made him look otherworldly, full of ancient fury and hate, and his eyes, when they met Abby's, were dark with anger.

She had no doubt that his anger was aimed at her, but the hate was all for King. It froze her on the spot as Frank tossed the crowbar he'd been carrying onto the floor, where it fell with a clatter as he drew his own weapon, aiming it straight at King. That shocked Abby out of her immobility and she stepped forward with an involuntary cry.

"Frank! Don't!"

Frank's face twisted, his expression strangely grief-stricken as well as furious. She felt her chest lurch again, something hard and bitter forming just below her heart, grieving and guilty. She kept her weapon down, pointing it towards the ground instead of at Frank, in spite of her instinctive need to protect King, and took another step closer, her expression pleading.

"Frank, please, you don't want to do this."

"How could you be so fucking stupid, Whistler? He's working with Danica."

She shook her head mutely, desperately searching for the words that would convince him otherwise. "No, we -"

"There are vamps on the way, Whistler. The same vamps who killed Velasquez and Mick. How the fuck could you forget about them and... and...?"

Frank's finger tightened on the trigger and Abby darted forward two or three steps, only stopping when Frank glared in her direction, his gun hand twitching ominously.

"Don't you fucking touch her," King growled, drawing Frank's attention back to him. "You keep the fuck away from her." He'd pushed himself up onto his knees, leaning heavily on the box behind him to keep himself upright. One arm was wrapped around his ribs and there was blood on his face where his cheek had scraped against the floor.

"If I were you," Frank said, his voice freezing, sending tendrils of ice down Abby's spine, "I'd be more worried about myself."

King subsided, sinking down onto the floor and watching Frank warily. But he wouldn't be King if he could keep his mouth shut. "So, what's the plan, Frank? We all sit here until the cavalry arrives?"

"Shut the fuck up," Frank spat. "Abby might not be able to see what a fucking disaster you are, but I see you. I see you for what you really are, you piece of shit."

King was still watching him closely, but there was an edge of anger in his gaze now, something that told Abby that he was tired of Frank pushing him around. He'd been a vampire once and maybe he hadn't been able to shake off some of that arrogance yet, some of that innate knowledge that no matter what hurt you, short of silver you'd heal. But Abby was all too human. She knew too damned well what a bullet could do, and what it would do to King.

"Frank." She modulated her tone, keeping it calm and steady even though her fingers were shaking, the gun jittering in her hand. "Don't do this, please. King hasn't done -"

"King's the reason they're dead."

Frank's words were flat and lifeless, and he was right. She knew he was right. But King being the reason for their deaths didn't mean he was to blame, even if Frank couldn't see that. Even if King couldn't.

King's gaze dropped away from Frank's, his arm still wrapped gingerly around his ribs. But Frank seemed to have lost interest in him, at least for the moment. All of his attention was focused on Abby, like he was trying to convince her, like convincing her was all that mattered, mattering more than killing King.

"Don't you see, Whistler?" he said, and it almost sounded like he was pleading. She'd never heard that tone in Frank's voice before. He ordered; he didn't beg. It threw her, rendering her silent. "If it hadn't been for King, Velasquez and Mick would still be alive. He's spent the last five years in Danica Talos' pocket. What the hell makes you think that's changed?"

She glanced at King, meeting his eyes briefly before he looked away again, the muscle in his jaw twitching.

"It doesn't matter what he did before," she said quietly. "He's trying to take Danica down now, and I'm going to help him. We **both** owe Velasquez and Mick that, Frank."

"You're going to help him in spite of everything?" Frank's expression was bitter, his eyes bottomless pits of grief in the torchlight. "Just like that? Jesus. He must be a really good fucking lay."

Maybe it was her sudden start that clued him in to just how close to the mark he was, but when that realisation struck, his face grew slack, betrayal in every harsh, haggard line. His hand jerked up again, aiming his gun squarely at King, and King's head snapped back, a brief, momentary flash of fear crossing his face before he brought it under control again, meeting Frank's eyes grimly.

Abby brought her own gun up, training it on Frank. It broke her fucking heart and her hand was shaking so badly that she didn't think she'd hit him even if she could pull the trigger, not even at this close range. But she couldn't pull the trigger. Not on Frank.

"Don't," she pleaded again, and it came out weak and quavering, not the firm command she needed if she was to have any chance of getting Frank to listen to her. To listen to reason.

"After everything I've done, everything I've tried to do to keep you safe, you want to go after Talos. You're going to get yourself killed, Whistler. You're going to get yourself fucking killed. Over **him**."

After all he'd done.

"That's my call." There were tears in her eyes, welling up until Frank's outline blurred. She couldn't look at King, not now, not when she was ripping Frank apart for him. Not when Frank didn't deserve that, and not when King didn't deserve what she was doing for him either.

"You know he sold us out, Whistler." Frank's voice dropped to something low and persuasive, something that slid the blade a little deeper, cutting into her until she bled inside.

"Danica was looking for him, Frank," Abby said, and she hated the tone in her voice, the one that was begging Frank for reassurance. She wasn't a child; good or bad she had to live with her decisions. But still, she couldn't help it, not entirely. Not when Frank was standing there, and she was betraying him more with each passing second.

It still didn't stop her, and that was the worst betrayal of all.

"You don't know that King betrayed us. You can't be **sure**. She could have found him... Could have found us. On her own." Her voice cracked, and she swallowed the sob that was on the verge of breaking free, steadying her gun with both hands because the weight of it was almost too much to bear.

"How?" Frank asked, his voice intense and his eyes burning like coals in his too white face. "You're supposed to be smart, Whistler, so tell me. If he didn't sell us out, then who the hell else did?" His expression twisted again, crumpling up into something old and bereft, paper-thin. "Who else, Whistler? Tell me that."

There was something in his eyes, the same grief and guilt she'd seen there for months. The grief and guilt she'd thought was there because Frank felt responsible.

Frank was responsible. The certainty of it settled on her like a heavy weight, almost bringing her to her knees.

"You," she whispered, the word spilling out of her like life's last breath. "You sold us out."

The expression on Frank's face smoothed out and he straightened up, meeting her eyes calmly now; the more the weight of that knowledge settled on her, the straighter he stood, and his expression was full of a strange kind of satisfaction. She had the sudden, irresistible idea that he was actually proud of her, and he couldn't have twisted the knife any more deeply if he'd tried.

"That's why you wanted King to stay behind with Mick," she continued, all of the cards - all of those little bits and pieces about the whole situation that had nagged and frustrated her over the last few months - finally falling into place. "You knew Danica was coming because you'd told her exactly where to come. I thought you'd just spotted something we hadn't seen that night, but you already knew we had to go in hot."

Frank was staring at her, his expression still bitterly proud, and she wanted to scream, to shake him, to beg him to tell her that she was wrong.

But she didn't do any of those things, and he didn't deny any of her accusations.

"That's why you insisted that Sommerfield and Hedges take Zoë with them. You didn't want to be responsible for the murder of a six-year-old." Frank's face twitched, the first sign of a crack he'd shown since she started to put two and two together and come up with an answer she wasn't sure she could live with. "But Mick... Mick was disposable. You couldn't leave King there on his own, not without questions you weren't going to answer, so you needed to leave someone behind with him. And Mick was perfect for that, wasn't he? He was just a waste of space as far as you were concerned, and fuck you for thinking that.

"But Velasquez... God, Velasquez..."

"Velasquez wasn't supposed to be there," Frank said, his eyes never leaving her face. His voice was gravelly, hoarse, as though the words had been forced out of him, like magma under pressure, slipping through the cracks. "But she insisted, and I couldn't..."

"And you couldn't talk her out of it, not without all of those questions you didn't want to answer."

Frank swallowed, regret written all over his face. It was too little, too late, and it was killing her. "I tried to talk her out of it," he said as if he hadn't heard Abby, as if anything else Abby said now just wasn't important. "But she was so fucking stubborn and I couldn't see a way out."

Frank's outline blurred as the tears rolled down Abby's face. "And in the end it didn't matter if King was there or not. Danica would still win, wouldn't she? She'd just have to wait until you turned King out onto the streets for her to find." She swallowed the lump forming in her throat. "Just tell me why, Frank. What was so fucking important that you sold us all out to a goddamned vampire?"

Frank stared at her for a long moment before he finally answered, and his tone of voice was as gentle as it had ever been with her. "I told you, girl. Danica Talos is way out of our league. We didn't stand a chance against her, not then and not now. But if we played it smart - if **I** played it smart - stuck to the little leaguers, the vamps who weren't aligned to her, let her think she owned me, that would buy us the time we needed to plan, to recruit, to build. We'd be ready for her someday, and King was supposed buy us that time." He smiled, something hard in it, something as unyielding as stone underneath the guilt and grief, the terrible triumph in his eyes. "But Danica was wilier than I thought, and it turned out King was just too fucking stubborn. He just wouldn't give in, wouldn't roll over and die like he was supposed to." He raised his weapon again, holding Abby's gaze the whole time as he aimed at King. "I knew he was going to be trouble the first time I laid eyes on him."

This time Abby's hands didn't shake as she pointed her gun straight at Frank's head.

"Don't." King's voice was quiet, but it cut through the tension like a knife. He wasn't looking at Abby; he was watching Frank, a pitying look on his face.

Frank turned his head slowly, his face bleak and bordering on blank. "You going to beg me for your life now, boy?"

King's expression didn't waver as he looked Frank straight in the eye. "Fuck you," he said. "I don't give a fuck about me, but don't make Abby shoot you. After everything you've done, you owe her that much."

The corner of Frank's mouth turned up in a slight, contemptuous smile. "You really think she's going to do that? You think she'll shoot me and save you?"

"Yes." There was no doubt in King's voice, nothing but complete certainty and absolute faith in his eyes when he glanced over at Abby. "I know she'll save me. That's what she does. She's stopped you shooting me before and she'll stop you this time. So don't make her kill you, you selfish son of a bitch. She's got to live with everything else you've done and I'll kill you my fucking self if you try and make her live with that, too."

The smile faded from Frank's face, leaving something confused and broken behind as he stared at King, and as King stared back. And then Frank smiled again, something almost human in it. "You know, I think you might be right. I'm sorry."

The last words were aimed at Abby, not King, and they caught at her attention, slowing her reaction. Frank sounded so sincere, like he really meant it, and there was something peaceful in his expression as he turned back towards Abby and jammed his gun underneath his chin.

She screamed as he fired, the back of his head exploding into a red mist. The gunshot echoed in her ears, drowning out everything else as her heart shattered and the tears streamed down her face. The image of Frank slumping down to the floor, limp and lifeless as his blood pooled on the floor, would haunt her for the rest of her days.

"Abby!" King's voice was urgent and it finally snapped her out of her daze. She blinked at him, her vision still clouded with tears, and he slowly swam into focus again. "We need to get out of here. Now!"

He was right, and that knowledge finally got her moving, darting to King's side to help him to his feet. She didn't look at Frank's body again - she couldn't and keep on going.

"How long until the guards head back in this direction?" she asked, trying to focus and steadying him as he finally made it upright, grunting in pain. "King!"

He glowered at her, sweat beading his forehead again. "Doesn't matter," he said. "They'll have heard the gunshot." Maybe not, if they were lucky, but they couldn't count on luck. And even if, by some miracle, the walls and the wind had masked the sound, Frank had said something about vampires headed in their direction. She was willing to believe that Frank had played it straight about that, if nothing else.

"Can you make it over the fence?"

He grunted again, stumbling slightly as she urged him forward, faster and faster until they broke into a trot. She'd have preferred a sprint, but it was fairly obvious that Frank's blow had at least bruised King's ribs, if not cracked or broken them outright, and she had no intention of leaving King behind.

"Might need a leg up," King wheezed. "But I'll make it."

She knew he would - Frank hadn't been wrong about him being a stubborn little shit.

They hit the outer door to the warehouse at something close to a run, King's arm still curled around his ribs. His face was grey and tight in the outdoor security lights, and he left it to Abby to draw her weapon, trusting her to watch his back as he grimly made his way to the perimeter fence. He was halfway there when the first security guard appeared, his weapon raised as he yelled for King to stop.

King obeyed, slowing his steps; Abby didn't, barrelling into the helpless guard and sending him flying with a roundhouse kick. She slammed her foot down on his arm, and when he let go of his weapon, another kick sent it spinning off into the darkness. He tried to push himself upright again, and only the weapon Abby pointed in his face stopped him. The fear that flashed across his face as he tracked the barrel of the gun left her feeling sick, and she took out some of her fear and frustration out on him, punching him in the side of the head hard enough to put him down, at least for long enough for them to get away.

King was already moving again, stubbornly heading for the fence and clambering up. When she reached him, all she could hear was a constant litany of _fucks_ as he focused on pushing past the pain. When he'd made it over, he hung from the top for a second before dropping, landing with a strangled yelp that had her wincing in sympathy as she scrambled over and landed beside him.

"Remind me not to do that again," he gasped, straightening up with an effort. She had to fight the urge to help him, but helping him would mean taking her eyes off the warehouse complex behind them and missing any signs of pursuit. Instead, she kept her weapon drawn, positioning herself between King and danger.

"Okay," King said, grabbing hold of her free hand and dropping his keys into them. "We need to get the hell out of Dodge, and you're driving."

-o-

King had a new truck, something large and ridiculous that suited his personality. It took both of them to wrestle her bike into the back of it, King cursing the entire time. Once she'd jumped into the driver's seat, she headed straight for base. If King had any objections, he didn't voice them, instead slumping back in his seat and watching her face in the street lights as they flashed by.

It was early, not far past midnight despite everything that had happened, and the roads were still humming. It took everything Abby had to keep to the speed limit and not attract attention when every impulse was screaming at her to hit the gas, the feeling of dread growing slowly with every passing mile.

"Can you phone ahead?" King asked, wincing slightly as he shifted position into something that might be more comfortable.

She shook her head. "I didn't -" Her voice cracked. "I left my phone. I didn't want Frank to figure out where I was."

King nodded, switching his attention to staring out of the windshield. "Danica might not know that Frank's dead yet," he offered, like that was supposed to be a consolation. She got what he was saying - that even if Frank had let slip to Danica where his team were based now, she'd need time to organise an attack - but it did nothing to ease the fear tightening her throat. She already knew that Danica was ruthless and scarily smart. She couldn't bet everything on the chance that Danica, for once, would stop long enough to think things through.

Screw the cops. She slammed her foot down on the gas and tore through the city, heedless of the traffic cams. It was King's car and if he'd been stupid enough to register it legally, he'd just have to be the one paying the tickets.

She didn't even relax when they pulled up outside the dark, squat building that served as their headquarters now. She spilled out of the truck, leaving the door wide open as she surged towards the entrance. She drew her gun as she went and left King to make his own way in behind her.

Her first yell drew Hedges out of his workroom, rubbing his eyes like he'd fallen asleep in there again. His eyes widened noticeably when he spotted King limping in behind her.

"Wait, what's he -"

"Find Dex," she snapped as she headed past him, cutting him off before he could get the rest of the question out. "Now!"

Hedges fled, casting one last, confused look back at King.

Sommerfield had obviously already heard Abby's approach because she emerged from her lab, her body tense and her expression watchful. "What's wrong?" she asked, feeling her way along the wall towards Abby.

Abby ignored the question, her throat too tight to answer. She didn't want to have to say it more than once - it was going to be difficult enough to say the first time. Instead she switched the second most important thing on her mental list. "Where's Zoë?"

"Bed." Sommerfield's face was pinched, tight with the fear that she was holding back. "What's wrong?" she asked again.

"Get her up." She kept her voice slightly softer than when she'd been talking to Hedges, but only slightly. "Now, Sommer."

Hedges reappeared, Dex hard on his heels, and Dex stopped short, eyeing King coldly. She suspected that the only reason that Dex wasn't already in King's face was because King was obviously in no condition to pose a threat. He'd wrapped his arm across his chest again and was moving even more slowly and carefully than he had been back at the docks. Either his condition had worsened, or he was making himself appear as unthreatening as possible, at least until he knew which way the wind was blowing.

With King, that was a distinct possibility, but even that didn't appease Dex entirely.

"What's he doing here?"

"We need to leave, now," Abby said, once again ignoring the question. "We're compromised."

Dex's head snapped towards her. " **He** shows up and all of a sudden we're compromised? What a fucking coincidence. Does Frank know you've taken up with him again?"

"King didn't sell us out." She rubbed at her face tiredly, heartsick and not bothering to hide it. "Frank did."

Sommerfield let out a soft, wounded sound, but when Abby turned towards her, the expression on Sommerfield's face was grieving but not surprised.

Hedges, on the other hand, looked thunderstruck, shaking his head over and over again as though by denying it, it would suddenly stop being true. "That can't be right," he said. "Frank would never -"

"Frank did." Her tone left no room for argument, and she held Hedges' gaze until he had no choice but to look away. "He admitted it, Hedges."

Dex's expression was brooding as he turned her revelation over in his head. "Where is Frank now?" he asked. "Man should get a chance to give his side of the story."

She didn't know how to break it to them gently, which only left brutal. "Frank's dead."

It hit Dex hard, his eyes widening and his body jerking as though the blow was a physical one. "How?" he demanded, his voice rough and raw with grief. Dex had been with Frank for years. Frank had found him and Frank trained him. However hard Abby was finding this, Dex would suffer more.

But even knowing that, she couldn't answer his question; the words caught in her throat and refused to make it past her lips. In the end, it was King who answered.

"Killed himself," he said. "Blew his brains out right in front of us when Abby..."

"When I figured out it was him, confronted him with it," Abby said harshly, and King's fingers twitched towards her, an automatic gesture of comfort that he quickly suppressed. "But we can talk about it later. Right now we need to **move**."

The shock was fading from Dex's face, leaving something resigned but focused behind. "How long do we have?"

Abby shook her head, a mute sign that she had no idea, and Dex seemed to fold in on himself a little.

"Where are we going?" Hedges interrupted. "If Frank -" He swallowed. "I mean..."

She'd already considered and dismissed the options they'd had lined up already. That left only one choice.

She turned to King. "You said you had boltholes all over the city, right?" He nodded, his eyes fixed on her face. "You got anywhere big enough for all of us?"

He frowned thoughtfully, his eyes growing unfocused for a second as he worked his way through all of the alternatives. And then he nodded. "Yeah," he said. "I've got somewhere. It's a fixer-upper, but it will work."

She nodded, turning away from him to look at the rest of what was left of her team, her family.

"Okay, people," she said. "Get ready to move out in twenty."

-o-

The site King had in mind was an old, abandoned barge on the river, just north of the city's manufacturing district. The traffic to and from the shabby factories would mask most of their movements, but they were still far enough away not to attract too much attention. And even if their neighbours did start asking questions, she had no doubt whatsoever that King would have believable answers lined up, given his gift of the gab and mastery of the art of bullshitting.

She and Dex did a circuit of the structure while Hedges stayed with Sommerfield in the truck, Zoë dozing against Sommerfield's side and Sommerfield's arm wrapped protectively around her daughter. King accompanied them as far as the walkway connecting the barge's mooring to the riverbank. She wasn't sure if it was Dex's obvious wariness and barely disguised discomfort with King's presence, or King's own aching ribs that kept him there, waiting for them to come back.

Their options right then were limited, but even if they'd had the luxury of time, Abby was pretty sure that they couldn't have come up with anything better than this. The barge was defensible, made of thick steel and separated from the land by a removable gangplank, and its position was ideal. By the time she was ready to leave Dex and make her way back to King, Dex was already muttering about security measures and escape routes. Since that was the type of thing that made Dex happy, she left him to it and headed to where the others were waiting.

"Home, sweet home," she told Sommerfield, smiling at Zoë and getting one of the Zoë's trademark serious looks in return. "It has potential. I think we'll take it."

King disappeared an hour or so before daylight, and she guessed that he'd headed back to whatever bolthole he was currently using. She didn't see him go and he didn't say goodbye, but just like he'd had faith that she'd save him, she had to have faith that he'd come back. She had other things to focus on - there was a lot to do, things that King couldn't help them with, not when he had his ribs strapped tightly up and was moving like an old man. Hedges had commented on it more than once, earning himself more than one obscene gesture from King in return.

It was growing lighter when Abby finally took a break, stepping out onto the deck and heading towards the front of the boat. She was pretty sure there was a real name for it that she was missing, and she was just as sure that if King ever came back, he'd take great delight in telling her what it was. At the moment, however, she was too tired to care. Frank's death still weighed heavily on her mind, and that made it difficult to think about anything else.

She crossed her arms and rested them on the railing, staring out across the water and listening to the sound of the river lapping against the side of the boat. It wasn't the rain, but the sound was still soothing and she lost herself in it for a moment. The sky was starting to lighten in the east, the still-hidden sun tinting the clouds with a rosy hue, not the vivid red that warned of a storm - _Red sky in the morning, sailors take warning_ \- but something softer, peaceful. She closed her eyes, feeling the breeze rising from the river brush gently against her face. It still held the night's chill, but there was no doubt that morning was on its way.

She heard his footsteps before she saw him. The rhythm of them was already familiar enough that she didn't even open her eyes.

"Is there a name for this part of the boat?" she asked as the footsteps first slowed and then came to a stop beside her.

"The bow," King said, leaning against the railing next to her. "Or maybe the prow, if you're talking about the pointy part." She opened her eyes, turning her head to look at him. He looked tired, faint traces of pain still on his face, but he was alive and awake enough to quirk his eyebrow at her when she kept staring at him, examining his face in the light spilling through the forward windows.

"How do you know this stuff?"

"I read a lot," he said, turning to face the river.

"You read trashy romance novels."

He shrugged, giving her a half smile. "And in that vein, I've also seen _Titanic_."

She laughed softly, closing her eyes again and turning her face into the breeze. "No 'King of the world' moments, okay?"

"I wouldn't dream of it. But I do have a car, just in case you feel like a steamy interlude."

She smiled, still keeping her eyes closed. The air stirred around her and it brought the sounds of early-morning - the faint tooting of far-off boats, and the sound of machinery as the factories came to life - with it.

"You okay?" King asked softly, and she opened her eyes.

"Still alive," she said and again that was probably the wrong choice of words given what had happened.

King nodded, still watching the water flow past. He reached into the deep pockets of his jacket and produced a bottle of beer, cracking it open for her before handing it to her. She wasn't surprised to read the label and find out it was Canadian.

"It's a little early for this, isn't it?"

King shrugged, pulling out a bottle from another pocket for himself. "Or a little late," he said. "I suppose it depends on how you look at it."

He had a point, but then she could say that about most things.

She clinked her bottle against his and then swallowed a mouthful of beer. It went down easier than she'd expected. "I keep thinking..." she said before trailing off. She half expected King to come out with a witty remark, something about that being dangerous, but instead he turned his attention from the river to her, watching her seriously. She licked at her lips. "About Frank," she said, and he nodded.

"Understandable under the circumstances."

"It's..." She swallowed, all of that panic she'd been holding at bay bubbling up to the surface. She took another sip of beer to hide it, push it back down again. "I don't think I can do this," she said, pushing the words out as quickly as possible so that they wouldn't stick in her throat and choke her. "If Frank couldn't make it..."

King was still watching her seriously. "You're a hell of a lot stronger than Frank Reilly," he said.

She shook her head, her eyes stinging. "He was strong," she insisted. "And if I hadn't heard it myself, I would never have believed that he could... If Frank could fail like that, when he has twenty years more experience than me..."

"And Danica had two hundred years more than Frank." King shrugged, his face lost in thought as he took a swig from the bottle in his hand. "Maybe Frank took that first step down that slippery slope himself, but I'm pretty sure that Danica gave him a good, hard shove to send him the rest of the way."

She knew he was trying to help, but the thought didn't make Frank's betrayal any easier to bear, and she gulped back on the sob that wanted to escape. She'd shed enough tears for Frank Reilly. Too many.

But then King wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into a rough hug, and that did make it easier to bear, just a little. He was warm and the fabric of his shirt scratched against her face as she burrowed into him, finally letting go. The storm, when it came, was full of fury, but it soon blew over, leaving her exhausted and limp in its wake.

"Bad night," she said when she'd gathered enough composure to speak, although her voice was still rough and broken.

King snorted, his fingers stroking up and down her spine in an oddly comforting way. "Now that's a fucking understatement."

She pressed herself closer to him, closing her eyes and breathing in his scent, which was even more familiar than the sound of his footsteps. Musk and fresh salt sweat, warm cotton and cool leather. She was tired, so tired, and it would be so easy to let him keep on holding her, lean into him and just doze for a moment while the world went away.

Too easy, and she'd never been one for the easy option instead of the right one. There was still too much to do, too much to think about, and it would be better for her to do it now, while she was still numb.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure," he said and his voice rumbled through him. She could feel the vibrations of his body as he held her. "But in case you're wondering, those rumours about me are completely untrue."

She smiled, not so much amused by his comment as simply glad that he was there. But this was something she needed to know, no matter the consequences. "Did you know it was Frank? Who sold us out?"

There was a pause before King pulled back far enough to peer down at her, his expression sympathetic. "No," he said gently. "I just knew it wasn't me."

She nodded. Maybe it was weak of her, but instead of stepping away like she should have done if she was sensible, she sank back into the warmth of his body, closing her eyes as he squeezed her gently. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "For doubting you."

"Sometimes," he said, "I think you have more faith in me than I do. Actually, I don't think that. I know that."

She didn't answer the question he wasn't quite asking. Instead, she simply listened to the sound of his heart, each beat serving to reassure her that he was still alive.

"If Frank had tried to hurt you again," she said, "I'd have killed him."

She didn't miss the sudden tension in his frame or the way it ebbed away again, nor did she miss how his arms tightened fractionally around her as he swallowed, suddenly and awkwardly.

"You **do** seem to have this habit of saving me," he said. "You probably want to work on that."

"No. I really don't."

"Right." There was a catch in his voice, something anyone else would have missed. She didn't call him on it, any more than she called him on it when he rested his cheek on her hair for a moment, his breath stirring her hair. "I suppose everyone needs a hobby. But you know, that's why I -"

He bit the words off, but he didn't need to complete it; she knew what he'd been about to say.

"Have an inappropriate amount of hero worship for me?"

He laughed softly against her hair, and she didn't think she imagined the kiss she felt him press there. "I think that by now it's entirely appropriate."

His heart was beating slightly faster. Pressed up against his chest, she could hear it, and she raised her head to look at him, her own heart starting to race, too, when she saw the look in his eye. He reached up and gently brushed a strand of her hair away from her face, easing it behind her ear, and his fingers lingered there for a moment before his palm cupped her cheek. He leaned in and pressed his mouth against hers.

He tasted of beer and hope, and she parted her lips, deepening the kiss as she slid her fingers into his hair and pulled him closer.

When she broke away from him, he kept her close, tucking her under his chin again and wrapping his arms around her. It worked; she wasn't cold any longer, not with King's warmth right there, and for the first time since Frank's death she felt a measure of peace.

"If you have anything else you want to tell me, now's the time," she said quietly, rubbing her cheek against his chest. "Because after what happened with Frank, I really don't care about all the stupid things you think you've done that you don't want me to know about." He stiffened, like he was still afraid of her reaction in spite of what she'd said, even after all of this time and everything they'd been through. Together. "King," she said gently, lifting her head to stare into his face. "Spill."

Maybe it was the gentleness that finally got through to him, because he let go of her, and she let him go. He moved a couple of steps away and took a deep swig of beer before he faced her again.

"Okay," he said, and his voice shook a little. "So, I picked up this Betty in a bar. You know that much already. She had this tattoo on her wrist, just a little thing, looked a little bit like cuneiform, you know, if you prettied it up a bit or just had about two thousand years of linguistic drift. It was one of the first things I noticed about her. Well, that and the **really** tight skirt she was wearing..."

It wasn't difficult to put the pieces together, not when she understood King now. "You told her what it was, or what you thought it was."

The corner of his mouth twitched upwards, but there was no amusement in it. "It's stupid, but I was just... I was showing off. I was trying so hard to make an impression, and all I managed to do was hang a sign on my chest that said 'all-you-can-eat buffet'."

She stared at him for a long moment. "You think that's why she took you? Because you could read cuneiform?"

"Well, I can't think of any other reason." His tone was bitter.

"I can think of several," she said, and he rolled his eyes a little. "You're good-looking, you're funny, and you're smart, even if sometimes you're too damned smart for your own good."

She was no good at this - the compliment came out a little stilted and she expected some smartass remark from King in response, but he stayed silent, his eyes watchful. There was something lurking in the depths of them, something close to a desperate kind of hope.

It freed her tongue, in spite of her awkwardness. "You can't blame yourself, King. You didn't ask for it. Any of it. Maybe you're right and she would have picked someone else, but maybe she'd still have picked you and just killed you instead. You can't live in a world of what ifs."

He took another slow swallow of beer, still watching her. "Did you read that in a fortune cookie, Whistler? Because it's really profound."

She studied him for a long moment, saying nothing, and he finally raised one eyebrow and smirked at her, apparently unable to take the silence any longer.

"So, you think I'm good-looking?"

She hummed noncommittally. "I'm not sure about the beard."

He grinned suddenly, and this time he seemed genuinely amused. "I like the beard. Makes me look older, and since my birth certificate has me at five years older than I actually look, that isn't a bad thing. The beard's non-negotiable."

"Really?" She returned his smirk with interest, taking a long, deep pull from her bottle, and he actually looked indecisive for a moment before mock-scowling at her.

"Mean," he muttered, picking at the label on his bottle. That gesture was familiar, too, the clearest sign she could have of the fact that something was still bothering him.

"What is it?"

He glanced back at her, seeming surprised that she'd noticed he was still holding back, and the indecision hadn't faded entirely from his face. Nor had the sympathy, and it was the latter that caught her attention.

"Since tonight is the night for revelations," he said, and there was a strange kind of seriousness underneath his jokey tone, "there's something else you probably need to know." Once, that might have worried her, put her on edge and made her doubt him; now she simply watched him and waited calmly. Whatever it was, they'd deal with it.

"Come here," he murmured, biting at his lip and reaching for her. She went, sliding back into his arms as though she'd never been away. Maybe having her that close helped, or maybe he was just braver than he thought, because he finally admitted, "If you hadn't come when you did, if you'd offered me the cure two, maybe five, years down the line, I wouldn't have taken it." His voice dropped until it was barely above a whisper, dark with shame and a weird kind of hopelessness. "I was just... I was so fucking tired of fighting her. I don't think I could have kept it up. I just kept on losing, and the more I lost, the more I lost myself. Sooner or later, I'd have drunk the fucking Kool-Aid, so when I say that you saved me, Whistler, I'm not fucking exaggerating, okay?"

His tone was deadly serious, none of his trademark flippancy in it, and she whispered a brief okay against his chest, fighting the temptation to wrap her arms around him and never let him go. Apart from everything else, it wouldn't do his sore ribs much good, and there was enough bewildered pain in his voice that she didn't want to add even one iota more to it.

"It's not that Danica sucks the life out of you, Abby. It's that she sucks everything else out of you, too. Reaches deep inside and takes hold of every little bit of hope, everything that makes you 'you', and rips it all away until there's nothing left. Nothing but her."

He wasn't talking about himself, she realised. At least not entirely, and his next words confirmed it.

"If you can't forgive Frank, then I don't know how the fuck you'll ever forgive me. The things I did when Danica had me were a hell of a lot worse than anything Frank could have dreamed up."

She wasn't convinced, but she knew she'd never convince him. Instead she limited herself to a nod, pressing her cheek more firmly against his jacket.

"He was a good man once," she said, because she could offer that much, at least, to King. "And I'm sure he set out to do the right thing."

"Yeah, I'm sure he did. The road to hell, and all that..."

It was an apt descriptor, especially when she remembered how much Frank had aged over the last few months. Abby was pretty sure, now that she thought about it, that Frank had already been living in hell.

But she couldn't think about Frank any more, not without completely breaking down, and the front of King's shirt was already damp.

"Are you staying?" she asked softly instead, and that was the only other question she was interested in. It didn't feel like a question; it felt like a request.

"My stuff's in the back of my truck," he admitted, and she smiled even though he couldn't see it. "If nothing else, I'm sick of ramen noodles and Dex is a pretty decent cook."

"I'm glad," she said and he squeezed her again, pressing another kiss against her head before he loosened his grip and stepped away again, a little more reluctantly this time. His fingers rested in the small of her back for a moment before they dropped away.

"What now?" he asked and she didn't think the question was just about whatever it was that was going on between them.

She leaned against the railings again and thought about it, watching the early morning mist curling up as the sun rose over the horizon, painting the sky with hazy pinks and golds.

"We keep going. We keep fighting. We kick Danica Talos' ass."

"That's a good plan," he said. "Short, simple, and to the point. I like it."

She smiled and took another drink of beer. The bottle was almost empty; when she finished it, there'd be a lot of things waiting for her to do. And a team that would need her to hold them together.

King was watching her, a small smile playing around corners of his mouth. When she caught his eyes, he lifted his bottle, tilting it towards her in a small toast. "To the Night Stalkers," he said.

She stopped in the act of taking another drink, the bottle still pressed against her bottom lip. "Oh no," she said. "We are **not** calling ourselves the Night Stalkers."

He pouted, but his eyes were dancing, his amusement clear in every line of his body. "Every gang needs a cool name," he said. "Somehow I don't see us as the Scooby gang, and Buffy is already taken."

She gave him a look.

"Oh, come on, Whistler. You know it makes sense. They're Night Walkers. We hunt them, so that makes us Night Stalkers."

"No," she said firmly.

He grinned, throwing his arm around her shoulders and tucking her up against his side. "We can talk about it later," he said expansively, and she had a feeling that it was going to be a very long, very repetitive conversation. But she couldn't find it in her to care, not when King smiled down at her, his eyes softening when she smiled back. It felt natural to settle into his embrace, and she wrapped her arms gently around his waist, watching as the sun rose on a brand new day, one where King would be right beside her.

-o-

 **Epilogue**   
_Two Years Later_

Abby had to admit that Blade was impressive; she'd seen vampires pull some pretty slick shit before, but a half-vampire jumping from a fifth floor window and landing without a scratch was new, even for her.

Even King was impressed, not that anyone else would have been able to tell from the never-ending stream of consciousness he kept up all the way back to the Honeycomb Hideout. She left it to King to introduce the team to Blade while she watched Blade's reaction, assessing him the way that he was judging the rest of them.

"We call ourselves the Night Stalkers," King said, and Abby smiled.

 **The End**

-o-

 

A PDF file optimised for e-readers can be found **[here](http://www.alyse.info/blade_trinity_-_the_lies_you_live_by_alyse.pdf)** (1.25mb), or if you prefer you can download other e-reader formats such as .mobi or .epub (without illustrations) from AO3 directly.


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